25/12/2025
’Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring—not even a mouse.
The lacrosse sticks leaned by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Saint Nick soon would notice them there.
The cleats were all lined by the door in a row,
Still dusted with turf from the last fall’s throw.
Jerseys lay folded, green, white, and gold,
Dreaming of faceoffs both fearless and bold.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of goals danced in their heads.
Fast breaks and feeds, a perfectly timed cut,
And a top-shelf rocket no goalie could shut.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a sprint,
Stick tucked to my side, every step in a hint.
The moon on the frost of the freshly cut grass
Gave a shimmer like lights on a championship class.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a sleigh—and Saint Nick—wearing team-colored gear.
With a pocketed stick and a helmet so bright,
I knew in a moment this coach was Saint Nick.
More rapid than middies his reindeer they came,
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
“Now Dodger! Now Cutter! Now Middie and Goalie!
On Attack! On Defense! On Clear it up, holly!
To the top of the porch! To the wall-ball we go!
Now cradle away! Cradle away! Let it flow!”
He sprang to the house, to the roof with a bound,
A bag full of lax balls made hardly a sound.
Down the chimney he slid with a grin ear to ear,
Smelling faintly of pine tar and victory cheer.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Filled stockings with tape and a new shooting shirt.
A whistle, some gloves, and a brand-new mesh too,
Then he nodded once—like a coach saying “good.”
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a yell,
“Play fast, play smart, and play for each other as well!”
And I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight:
“Happy Christmas to all—now go win that next fight!”
