Twas the night before Christmas, when all thru Celtic Nation,
Not a fan felt the usual sense of elation.
Tho' seventeen banners were hung up with care,
Without number eighteen, the Garden seemed bare.
The die-hard fans nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of victories danced in their heads.
And tho' little could trouble the true faithfuls' hearts,
Quite a few were concerned by the season's slow start.
So many had begun with such strong presentation,
That the lack of this year's only bred consternation.
How could a team stacked with such talent and flash,
Give their fans all these reasons to berate and bash?
Was the solid core ageing? Were the new guys too green?
Had intangible problems been brought forth unseen?
Was the coach inconsistent with all the rotations?
Had a crack somehow formed between player relations?
Was the defense too porous, the offense too slow?
Did we make the right trades? Did we spend enough dough?
Were the jump-shots too frequent, the attack far too weak?
Were we just on an extended Grinch-ified streak?
The questions seemed endless, the answers too few,
And the press, (far from kind), was just stirring the stew.
Apprehension was building on blogs and in bars,
And "I Bleed Green" stickers disappearing from cars.
The losses were mounting, the doubts multiplying,
Tommy Points became scarce, Gary Tanguay was crying.
D-Marsh had resumed with his Ray Allen mentions,
Tommy Heinsohn had peaked with his bad-call inventions.
The team was, again, nursing too many hurts,
And Wyc was out shopping for more Ed Lacertes.
Danny Ainge seemed in danger of becoming antique,
But found comfort in bloating his long-lost physique.
Obscured, were the answers for just what was ailing,
And even Lucky, himself, had thought about bailing.
When, what to the Causeway Street throng had appeared,
A plump man dressed in red, with a white, fluffy beard.
Just one symbol of Christmas, but to many, much more,
He was ringing a bell to bring hope to the poor.
It was just a small gesture, but a moment reflective,
To put our team's worries in a better perspective.
For while we all wish for the best for our team,
There's much more in this world for concern, it would seem.
Many people are torn by a tragedy wrought,
Children's lives being ended, without giving a thought.
Little stomachs are empty, come each Christmas Eve,
While we worry what presents our loved ones receive.
So many souls mourning a dear one, now lost,
Yet we trouble our minds on the holiday's cost.
And some of us long for our first love, now gone,
When a multitude pray for the chance of just one.
Tiny creatures and animals mistreated each day,
While we contemplate on how our Celtics will play.
Now, I know it's important to enjoy what we have,
To share in our joys, and to play, and to laugh.
But maybe this team over which we obsess,
Isn't such a big worry, or quite such a mess.
For millions of people who don't know this game,
Who don't know our Celtics, and can't call them by name,
Who don't have the time to watch basketball,
Or maybe don't get to have TV at all.
Who may have tired souls in need of reviving,
Who spend every moment of life just surviving,
Would look at their lives and bad luck that they've had,
And think that .500 isn't really so bad.
So now Ticket! Now Rondo! Now Bass, and now Lee!
On Truth, and on Bradley! On Green and J.T.!
Now Joseph! Now Collins, Barbosa and Melo!
On Sullinger, Wilcox! Each coach and each fellow!
To the top of the standings! To the top of the charts!
No matter your record, you won't lose our hearts.
For we know that it's only a game, after all,
Just a small part of life, not a worry at all.
And while we all hold Celtic Pride very dear,
We'll remember what's really important each year.
For we all share the blessing of this great Celtic's team,
But life's the Big Picture, and love's the true dream.
Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and a very happy and prosperous New Year to you and yours! - Bahku, December, 2012
- Bahku, December, 2012