T’was the Night Before Done-ver
T’was the Night before Done-ver, and all through the land,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a Done-ver fan.
Chiefs jock-ings were well-hung in their lockers with care,
In hopes that the greatest fans, soon would be there.
The players were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of “seven-sacks” danced in their heads.
With Sutton in his kerchief, and Reid in his cap,
Had just settled their game plans, for a brief winter nap.
When out on the turf there arose such a clatter,
Reid sprang from his bed, to see what was the matter.
Away to his minions he flew like a flash (admittedly he doesn’t do much flew-ing or flashing),
Tore open his game card and called a screen pass.
The sun on the breast of a day-old snow
Gave a foggy bluster, to objects below.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature “10,” sprinting untouched, in the clear.
There appeared a mild QB, one without myth,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Smith.
More rapid than eagles his passes took aim,
And he shook, and he shivered, called his teammates by name!
“Now, Dustin! Now, D.J.! Now, Peters and Maclin!
On, Conley! On, Colquitt! On, Dontari, Houston!
To the top of the Division! To the top of the West!
Now dash away! Dash away! Give it your best!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
On up thru the Truman Sports Complex they flew,
Like a sleigh full of TDs, and St. Smith flew too.
And then it was gone, in a twinkling, a goof:
A winning streak. A Bye week. All disappeared. Poof!
As Reid called a timeout, and was turning around,
Up stepped his ex-kicker, crashing it all to the ground.
He stood at his presser with his foot in his mouth,
Took all the blame, like a robot, no doubt.
The bungles. The stumbles. Took it all on his back,
But he looked like a peddler, and kinda sounded whack.
His eyes, still they twinkled! Though his dimples were hairy.
His cheeks were like roses, his nose a frostbit cherry!
The drool from his mouth was like a frozen rainbow,
And the stash neath his nose was as white as the snow.
The stump where he had his knee replaced twice,
Was frozen like old Municipal Stadium pipes.
He had a broad face and a huge jolly round belly,
That shook when he talked, like a bowlful of jelly!
He was chubby and plump, a right sad old elf,
And I cried when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had everything to dread.
He spoke in slow words, with the same lines he uses,
And filled all our heads with his age old excuses.
Self-aiming all blame he said, “Now it’s on to the next game,”
“Thank God,” the press murmured, “We’re tired of your claims.”
As he sprang to his locker room, to his team gave a whistle,
Away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
To prepare as they must for Christmas at Arrowhead,
They yelled, “Happy Christmas to all. Hail, hail, the Gold and Red!”
I hope you all have a blessed Christmas, Hanukkah
or however you may be celebrating this time of year.
Peace to you all.
~Laddie Morse
Go Chiefs!!!!
Now, go kiss somebody!
