‘Tis the Season to Take a Little Poetic License

‘Twas the night before the Holiday Festival,

When through Alumni Hall

Just one creature was stirring

And bouncing a ball.

The nets had been hung

From the baskets with care

In hopes that Coach Jarvis

Soon would be there.

The fans were nestled all snug in their beds

While visions of victories danced in their heads

And players arrived in designs of Eddie Bauer

Thinking practice absurd at such a late hour

When out on the court were the sounds of loud squeaks

That came from the suicides run in new sneaks

They hustled and bustled and criss-crossed the court

Not hearing from outside a sound, like a snort.

The campus was empty and dark as can be

Except for the presence of multiple Johnnie

And approached as it did, making such a fuss

Was the mode of transportation — a giant coach bus.

With a crafty city driver, who had no fear,

He could guide them to MSG faster than eight tiny reindeer

They boarded the bus as he called them by name

Because it was time to play the big game;

“Now, Glover! now, Hatten! now, Stanley and King!

On, Ingram! on Keita!” My how the words sing!

To the top of the key, run the out of bounds play

Run them off the court, let’s make them pay.

So the bus made its way, to the Greatest Arena

Packed to capacity, if you could have seen it

The team that they faced wore powder-blue

Boasted tradition of Jordan and Vince Carter, too.

And then, in a flash, the lights went real low

The crowd got real noisy, and ready to blow

When the music blasted, the fans came alive

As the announcer named the SJU starting five.

At the head of the bench was a man everyone knew

He had been at Boston University and GW

He dressed in a suit and stood very still

Some people think he looks like the Fresh Prince’s Uncle Phil

His son at his side, they were ready to see

Their offense run most perfectly.

His eyes — how they twinkled when crisp passes were made

But the visage was different when sloppy defense was played

He’d yell when he had to, tried to spark the troops

He offered them Gatorade, towels and fruit loops;

But things looked bleak as halftime drew close,

The team looked scared, like they’d seen a ghost,

But the only spirits present were the brothers McGuire,

Who watched the game in a huff, full of ire

How could their Redmen be playing so bad?

It must have been the name change, a politically-correct done fad;

“I don’t think that’s it,” Dick said to Al

“Why don’t you ask Louie, he’s a good pal.”

Jarvis spoke not a word, as he entered the room

He commented that someone should get him a broom

‘Cause the way they were playing was making him weep

And North Carolina was going for a second-half sweep.

But Hatten arose from the seat of his chair

And said, “look I know that the refs aren’t that fair,

That we can’t buy a bucket, and our D is the pits

But I know that I won’t lay down and quit.”

The team sprang to the court, a fire inside

Matt Doherty looked like his dog had just died

As King made a basket, the SJU crowd knew,

With one minute left the deficit was two.

After a defensive stop, Glover was at the line

The first rattled home, the second tickled the twine,

And when the Tar Heels had trouble on the inbounds play,

Stanley dove for the ball and he saved the day,

By getting the ball in the hands of Cuffe

And while a shot in the final seconds would be tough enough

Three players around him, he let the shot go

The buzzer sounded, up from the bench jumped Mo.

The ball went through the net, the Johnnies had won

As they rushed the court shouting “We’re No. 1!”

And I heard Jarvis exclaim, from the press conference room,

“Beating the Tar Heels is nice, we’ll beat the Dukies real soon!”

Jason Della Rosa is a senior journalism major who wants to wish all his readers a Merry

Christmas. Send comments to [email protected]