Wob: ‘Twas the Night Before NBA Christmas
The Action Network. Pictured: Rob Perez.
Twas the night before NBA Christmas,
When all through the league,
Everyone is making 20 mil,
Even Jeff Teague.
The last chances were laid by the chimney with care
in hopes that St. Melo soon would be there.
The Kings were nestled all snug in their beds,
while visions of the playoffs danced in their heads.
Rondo in his ‘kerchief, Chris Paul is his cap,
had just settled down for a long winter’s scrap.
When out on Twitter, there arose such a clatter
Embiid sprang from bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the laptop he flew awade like flash,
And tore into Drummond, for his game being trash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Bulls don’t wanna be here, like their name is Eric Bledsoe.
When, what to Giannis’ wondering eyes should appear,
but a free agent sleigh and eight baby reindeer.
A little old driver, no more J.R. to blame,
I knew in a moment it must be LeBron James.
Galloping like Kawhi, his coursers they came,
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
“Now Lance! Now Ingram! Now, Hart and JaVale! On, Kuzma! On, Moe! On, Rondo and Lonzo!
To the top of the conference! Anthony Davis and Wall! If you’re not signed with Klutch, trade away, trade away, trade away all!”
And then, in a twinkling, something landed on the roof,
Steph didn’t believe it, he needed more proof.
Harden fell through the chimney, and one on his face,
Now Curry believes a rocket traveled in space.
Klay was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
The Warriors are back, flaming opponents into soot.
A bundle of promise, Doncic will bankrupt your bookie,
Even Ben Simmons thinks he’s the best rookie.
Greta’s eyes how they twinkled! Her dimples, how jolly!
The Suns are a scene out of Along Came Polly!
Paul George’s game is so smooth, he passes so cleverly.
Please keep him away from Mister Patrick Beverley.
Don’t score 50 on Kyrie, he turns into a brat,
How is his name Little Mountain, when he believes the earth is flat?
Jimmy had a broad face, General Soreness at your service on quota,
He was the alpha dog, too many KATs in Minnesota.
Durant wasn’t chubby, a right jolly old elf,
I laugh at how good he is, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
soon gave Knicks fans know they have nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Won a third straight Finals MVP, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
Called Draymond from the parking lot, into free agency he rose.
He sprang to his burners, to Rich Kleinmann gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him tweet, when he drives out of sight,
“I’m on to my next chapter, and to all a good night!”