'Twas the Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even Eddie House;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes the Commissioner soon would be there;
The Jazz were all nestled a snug in their beds,
They dreamed of Milwaukee and that damned Michael Redd:
And Pacman in his 'kerchief, and Ray Lewis in his cap,
Had just settled down for some VIP dances, lap.
When out on the filed there arose such a clatter,
‘Cause the Yankees bought all the best pitchers and batters.
Away to the window Usain Bolt flew like a flash,
He needed more light to inject roids in his ass.
Warren Moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Make you question his morals, but you never know,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But Kim Kardashian with Reggie Bush slapping her rear,
Devin Hester was there, so lively and quick,
Returning kicks he was awesome, catching balls he sucks (well you know).
More rapid than eagles every kick was the same,
He whistled to blockers, and called them by name;
"Now, Vasher! Now, Forte! Now, Briggs and Rex Grossman!
On, Orton! On Urlacher! On, Kreutz and Greg Olsen!
From Historic Soldier Field, to the snow in old Lambeau,
But enough about football, let’s talk about Rondo.”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
Rajon is unstoppable when he mounts to the sky,
He dribbles and rebounds, to the backboard he slashes,
He scores or to KG, to Pierce, or Ray Allen he passes.
And then, in a twinkling, he steals the ball from your point,
Then he throws down a dunk and blows the roof off the joint.
On Christmas the Celtics will play in LA,
A-listers will go ‘cause they’re down with Yahweh.
Rondo will run circles ‘round Fisher like a dancer,
He won’t use his kid to leverage a trade with his cancer.
And if Andrew Bynum puts the ball on the floor,
Rondo will strip him ‘cause his dribbling is poor.
He’ll spring to the backcourt, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they’ll all fly like the down of a thistle.
The Celtics will run up the floor to their spots,
Sugar Ray to the corner ‘cause his shooting’s been hot.
He’ll look to the left and then pass to the right,
And KG will jump toward the rim, out of sight.
He’ll catch the sweet oop, throw it down with some thunder,
The Lakers will cry, their dreams torn all asunder.
And Rondo will yell, ere he drives out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."