T'was the night before Christmas

On behalf of EOTP, we would like to wish everyone in the hockey community a merry Christmas, and happy holidays.

T'was the night before Christmas, when all through the house
No players were stirring, not Chuck, not a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the Bell Centre with care,
In hopes that Marc Bergevin soon would be there.

Desharnais was nestled all snug in his bed,
While visions of Pacioretty danced in his head.
And Price is relaxing, and Gallagher in a cast,
All that Habs fans wished for was them to heal fast.

When out in the Atrium there arose such a clatter,
Everyone sprang from their beds to see what was the matter.
Away to the window we flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The smiles of the children were shining quite bright,
And tears of the parents were a most joyous sight.
When, what to their wondering eyes should appear,
But a man with love in his heart, spreading good cheer.

With much fanfare, rising from a perfect clan,
We knew in a moment it must be Subban.
More rapid than Byron, his gifts as they came,
And he smiled, and danced, and called them by name!

"Giving back to the community is the name of the game,
I want to help out, lives'll ne'er be the same."
With all of his money, fame, power and might,
Of the most important goal, he never lost sight.

Then white rinks began to yearn for their skaters,
Young children adorned in their favourite sweaters.
Cars drove up and down the boulevard,
and #9 did appear in an ode to Richard.

"I'm P.K! I'm Patch! I'm Markov and Price."
The kids were still dreaming of hitting the ice.
"There's still grass on in the fields!" they all complain,
The snow hasn't come, yet the passion remains.

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
All they really wanted was the snow to fall.
There is no reason for panic, for tears, or for fright,
In the the long run the Starks are always right.

Winter is coming, the ice will arrive soon
The Classic's anon, go back to your room.
Go back to bed, dream of vanquishing your foes,
Plan how to conquer all the Habs' scoring woes!

While the children all struggled to sleep,
GM Marc Bergevin began thus to weep.
He pondered all his hard off-season work,
He wondered why Lucic acted like such a jerk.

Why'd the scorers' goals all go down the drain?
Why must December e'er be their bane?
Without Gally and Petry and Gilbert and Price,
The final results too seldom were nice.

Would the Habs be ok without any help?
"No! We want trades!" the fans all did yelp.
What about Simmonds, or Boedker, or Teddy Purcell?
The problem arose, and only time would tell.

He sprang to his phone, but a thought did occur.
What if things were fine just as they were?
The fans might be restless, frustrated, irate,
They reminisced about times where the teams were so great.

"Have faith in your team" Marc declared with joy,
The current rumours are just a decoy.
The 25th's within reach, it's all in our sight.
In the mean time "Happy Christmas, and to all a good-night!"

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