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To get everyone in the holiday spirit, here is my Bills version of the "Night before X mas." (I know there has been a post similar to this in the past, but I did make this one myself.)
Twas the night before playoffs, and all through the Ralph,
Not a player was stirring, Losman sitting on his couch;
The helmets were hung by the lockers with care,
In hopes that "next season" would soon be there;
The players were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of penalties, missed field goals, bad challenges, and fumbles danced in their heads;
And Schobel in his walking boot, and Evans in his cap,
Looked at each other, "...Same old crap."
When out on the field arose such a clatter,
Poz sprang from his bed with instincts of a linebacker.
Away to the practice field, Parrish flew like a flash,
while hoping next year's season ticket holders already paid in cash.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow
Gave the luster of 1pm football below.
When, what to Ralph’s wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature keg, filled with frosty Labatt beer.
With wasted timeouts, and the IQ of a brick
I knew in a moment it must be Coach Dick.
More rapid than Buffaloes his players they came,
And he whispered, showed no emotion, stared at the scoreboard, and called them by name!
Now Marshawn! Now Freddie! Now, Leodis and Ashton!
On, Kawika! On, Terrence! On Jabari and Aaron!
To the top of the draft order! To the top of the IR!
Now dash away! Dash away! Our play is sub-par!
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the field
The players all dancing on the NFL shield.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Out of the locker room the Bills came, though not playoff bound.
They were dressed in their throwbacks, from their head to their feet,
Their uniforms were all tarnished with grass stains and sleet.
A bundle of pads, they had flung on their back,
They looked hungry for the playoffs, even if only a snack.
Their eyes how they twinkled, their eye black looked scary,
The defense was ready, led by Coach Perry.
Schonert in the booth, drawing up the O,
No more games in Toronto, we want the snow.
Coach Dick with his headset, gritting his teeth,
When a crazed fan stormed the field, trying to strangle him with a wreath.
With the same blank face, and butterflies in his belly,
The only thing that could save his job was to bring back Jim Kelly.
He was skinny and bland, a boring old elf,
Headlines read “time to put it on the shelf.”
A blink of his eye, and a scratch of his head,
Soon let me to know, Jauron’s coaching career was dead.
He spoke the same old words about how hard his players work.
And filled the presser with cliches, then passed the reigns to Turk.
Jauron knew his time as head coach was coming to a close,
As fans rallied at the stadium with jeers of “Coach Skeletor Blows!”
He sprang to his office to gather up his things,
And away he went to retire in Palm Springs.
But I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight,
“Don’t worry you Bills fans, the future is bright.”
Twas the night before playoffs, and all through the Ralph,
Not a player was stirring, Losman sitting on his couch;
The helmets were hung by the lockers with care,
In hopes that "next season" would soon be there;
The players were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of penalties, missed field goals, bad challenges, and fumbles danced in their heads;
And Schobel in his walking boot, and Evans in his cap,
Looked at each other, "...Same old crap."
When out on the field arose such a clatter,
Poz sprang from his bed with instincts of a linebacker.
Away to the practice field, Parrish flew like a flash,
while hoping next year's season ticket holders already paid in cash.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow
Gave the luster of 1pm football below.
When, what to Ralph’s wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature keg, filled with frosty Labatt beer.
With wasted timeouts, and the IQ of a brick
I knew in a moment it must be Coach Dick.
More rapid than Buffaloes his players they came,
And he whispered, showed no emotion, stared at the scoreboard, and called them by name!
Now Marshawn! Now Freddie! Now, Leodis and Ashton!
On, Kawika! On, Terrence! On Jabari and Aaron!
To the top of the draft order! To the top of the IR!
Now dash away! Dash away! Our play is sub-par!
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the field
The players all dancing on the NFL shield.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Out of the locker room the Bills came, though not playoff bound.
They were dressed in their throwbacks, from their head to their feet,
Their uniforms were all tarnished with grass stains and sleet.
A bundle of pads, they had flung on their back,
They looked hungry for the playoffs, even if only a snack.
Their eyes how they twinkled, their eye black looked scary,
The defense was ready, led by Coach Perry.
Schonert in the booth, drawing up the O,
No more games in Toronto, we want the snow.
Coach Dick with his headset, gritting his teeth,
When a crazed fan stormed the field, trying to strangle him with a wreath.
With the same blank face, and butterflies in his belly,
The only thing that could save his job was to bring back Jim Kelly.
He was skinny and bland, a boring old elf,
Headlines read “time to put it on the shelf.”
A blink of his eye, and a scratch of his head,
Soon let me to know, Jauron’s coaching career was dead.
He spoke the same old words about how hard his players work.
And filled the presser with cliches, then passed the reigns to Turk.
Jauron knew his time as head coach was coming to a close,
As fans rallied at the stadium with jeers of “Coach Skeletor Blows!”
He sprang to his office to gather up his things,
And away he went to retire in Palm Springs.
But I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight,
“Don’t worry you Bills fans, the future is bright.”
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