Hopefully, this brings you a little Giants-related laughter
Several times over the years I have taken Clement Clarke Moore’s Christmas Even poem ‘A Visit from St. Nicholas’ and adapted it into New York Giants version. It has been a few years since I have given this a whirl, but this year’s historically bad circumstances made it seem like a good year to give it a try.
I hope you enjoy. Have a safe and Merry Christmas!
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through John Mara’s house
Everyone was stirring, with drones flying above making them all grouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that better days for the franchise soon would be there;
The players were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of Cam, Shedeur and Jalen danced in their heads;
Joe Schoen in his ‘kerchief, and Brian Daboll in his cap,
Were in their offices with locked doors hoping not to become ousted riff-raff,
When out on the turf there arose such a clatter,
They sprang from their laptops to see what was the matter.
Away to the windows they flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a Viking longship filled with norsemen in good cheer,
With a grinning driver so lively and quick,
It was a happy Daniel Jones, and that made me sick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, Sam! now, Andrew! now Brian and Justin!
On, Jordan! on, Aaron! on, T.J. and Kevin!
To the top of the stands! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the stadium top the norsemen they flew
With the longship full of victories, and quarterbacks too—
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The pounding and partying of each big galoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning ‘round,
Down the chimney Danny came with a bound.
He was dressed all in purple and gold, from his head to his toes,
His suit was perfectly pressed and clean, no sign of having taken any blows;
A bundle of tequila bottles he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his exile having made him merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin made Kay Adams glow;
A cigar stolen from Brian Daboll was held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a simple face and blank, staring eyes
That lit up when he heard Giants’ fans cries.
He was happy and content, a jolly old practice squad quarterback,
He’s getting the last laugh on the Giants, which is whack;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Reminded me of two Drew Lock/Tommy DeVito/Tim Boyle games to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his longship, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all rode like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he moved out of sight—
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
