Season's Beatings

by John Walters: Thursday, December 25, 2008 3:16 PM

(per email from Ookie)

  
‘Twas the night before Christmas, 
When all through the den, 
The plasma was tuned to the ESPN, 
The fade route was hung by the pylon with care, 
In hopes that young Golden soon would be there, 
The O-line was lit as if by a fuse, 
With visions of blocking for Allen, or Hughes, 
And Charlie on crutches, not unlike Tiny Tim, 
Though his face not so pale, and his eyes not so grim, 
Joined by Chuck Jr., his son now a teen, 
Two Weis men from the east, a nativity scene, 
On a Hawaiian island, Notre Dame is marooned, 
Give thanks in green jerseys they are not festooned, 
The voice on the tube, it did give quite a scare, 
We wanted Pat Haden, but got Andre Ware, 
While up in the press box, scribes scatter like mice, 
No, that isn’t Santa, it’s a lei’d Charlie Weis, 
When, what to my half-drunken gaze should arrive, 
Than the Domers are gaining plus yards on a dive, 
With a little-used halfback, and now he is scorin’, 
Poor Pops--too much eggnog—in the corner is snorin’, 
Then Clausen broke huddle, while Gramps he broke wind, 
And as Jimmy called names, I sat and listened: 
“On Rudolph, on Duval, on David, on Tate, 
Let’s put positive spin on the season ’08! 
Run routes with a fervor; please give it your all, 
And, do me a favor, just don’t drop the ball.” 
Like ravenous orphans when at table do sup, 
The crazed Irish defense did bark,“Crank me up!” 
With the speed of eight reindeer the 'backers were blitzin', 
While Corwin did send nearly all of his Smiths in, 
Then behind the safety young Golden did go, 
Intent on not hearing, “That’s ten in a row.”
Bowl losses, that is, for they all knew the score, 
N.D. hadn’t won one since Jan. ’94: 
Buffs, Buckeyes and Beavers, the latter school twice, 
Had helped forge a record so naughty, not nice, 
An ACC trio extended the drought, 
Plus two to the Tigers, and both were a rout, 
But tonight, in Oahu, ‘gainst placider climes, 
Look, Ma, in the end zone: a touchdown for Grimes! 
And when Armando returned a kick all the way, 
The children, all ages, were merry and gay, 
Who knew that this school could provide us such mirth, 
On the eve of the date that its namesake gave birth? 
And when it was over, the scoreboard proclaim:
Hawaii 21; 49, Notre Dame, 
49 points? In a bowl? That’s a first, 
For the men of South Bend, who of late have seem cursed, 
Or at least apathetic, uninspired, or lame, 
It was as if they’d forgot who they are: Notre Dame! 
But tonight on the shores of the 50^th state, 
Where brides and Barack often go to vacate, 
Some pride was restored, and hope came alive, 
That next year we may crack the ol' Top 25, 
And Charlie was happy, that much you could see, 
He needed a win near as much as a knee, 
Back home in our p.j.’s, we readied for sleep, 
With grins as we thought of the ’09 two-deep, 
While out past the ocean, where honeymooners play, 
Charlie opened the presser with, “Fire away!” 
Then he boarded a plane, this descendant of Knute, 
Saying, “Merry Christmas to all, now I’m off to recruit!”