Twas The Night Before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas when all through the land

Not a creature was stirring, not even the millenials figuring out LAFC's brand. 

The communities hopes were hung by the cinder block book case with care,

In hopes that St. Don soon would be there. 


The cities were nestled all snug in their beds, 

While visions of MLS danced in their heads, 

And mama in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap

Had just settled our brains for a long off season nap. 


When out by the apartment recreation center there arose such a clatter

I sprang from the air mattress to see what was the matter

Away to the window I flew like a flash

Tore open the curtains and pretended to throw up the sash


The moon on the breast of the stripper I know

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below

When, what to my wandering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer


With a little old driver, so narrow and drawn

I knew in a moment it must be St. Don

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name


Now Sunil! Now, Abbot! Now, Promotion and Relegation ! 

On, Klinsmann! On, Arena! On, Donovan and Allocation! 

To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall! 

Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all! 


As wet shit that before the wild hurricane remain, 

When they meet with a hostile government that won't use eminent domain, 

So up to the apartment top the coursers they flew, 

With a sleigh full of MLS bids, and St. Don too. 


And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The playing of 300 from the upstairs douche

As I drew in my head, and was turning around, 

Down the radiator pipe St. Don came with a bound. 


He was dressed all in suit, from his head to his foot

And his clothes were all tarnished with rule discrepancies to boot. 

A bundle of stadium renderings he had flung on his back

And he looked like Bill Peterson, just opening his pack


His eyes how they twinkled! His bald head how merry! 

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! 

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, 

And he decided to change the playoff rules to create a better show. 


The stump of a vape pen he held tight in his teeth

And the fedora it encircled his head like a wreath

He had a tight little face and a tight little belly, 

That was the result of Pilates and a long grain rice diet from his consultant named Shelly. 


He was skinny and drawn, with commissioner's feet, 

And I laughed when I saw him, as I sent off a tweet

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, 

Soon gave me to know that I had nothing to dread.


He spoke not a word, as I stood back to lurk

And filled some of the stocking and told Sacramento it wasn't going to work, 

After laying their chances astride on the floor

And giving a nod, he strode out the door! 


He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, 

And away they all flew like the down of Partick Thistle. 

But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he left for a celebration, 

"Happy Christmas to all, and fuck promotion/relegation!"