Big Game Poetry

The  Night Before Big Game

Eric Lutkin, 2008

with continuing apologies to Clement Clarke Moore

'Twas the night before Big Game, when all through the Bay
Not a Cardinal was stirring, not even Elway;
The jerseys were hung by the lockers with care,
In hopes that The Axe would still be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Touchdown Tommy raced in their heads;

And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,

When out on the Quad there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the tailgate to see what was the matter.

Away to Arrillaga I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The lights from the Stadium had begun to glow
Gave the lustre of game-day to objects below,

When, what to my wondering eyes should I see,
But a miniature Block S, and eight tiny tree,

With a little old driver, so lively with glee,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Toby.
More rapid than eagles his receivers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Fletcher! now, Baldwin! now, Marecic and Dray!
On, Evans! on Snyder! on, McNally and Mabry!

To the top of the post! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild blitz fly,
When they meet with a stunt, mount to the sky,

So to the goal the receivers they flew,
With the playbook full of tricks, and St. Toby too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the street
The prancing and pawing of each little cleat.

As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Who but St. Toby came with a bound.

He was dressed all in white, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with grasses and soot;

A bundle of tacklers he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a freight train pushing the pack.

His eyes -- how they  twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the helmet he wore was as white as the snow;

The stump of a mouthpiece he held tight in his teeth,
And TDs encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a broad back and legs built much like trees
And when he ran the ball the bears scattered like fleas.

He was tall and chiseled, a right jolly old Card,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of my guard;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had little to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And ran over the bears; then turned with a smirk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the field they rose;

He sprang to his left, to his team gave a  whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Big Game to all, lets hold The Axe tight!"