'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the city
Not a creature was stirring, not even C-Benny;
The Nikes were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that big endorsement deals would soon be there;
The Thunder fans were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of NBA Champions Rings danced in their heads;
And Coach Brooks in his suit, and I in my cape,
Had just settled down to watch Nuggets game tape,
When out on the court there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my seat to see what was the matter.
Away to courtside I nearly took flight ,
Tore open the tunnel doors and threw up the lights.
The scoreboard on the cusp of the fresh-polished wood
Gave the luster of game day in the Bricktown 'hood,
When, with my sharp eyes I should scour,
A kickin' red sleigh, with eight hundred horsepower,
With a big hairy driver, so lively and quick,
I knew it was Rumble, instead of St. Nick.
Flying higher than eagles, his cries they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called the Thunder by name;
"Now, Kevin! now, Russell, now, Thabo and Krstic!
On, Collison! on, White! on, Maynor and Aldrich!
To the top of the ranks! to the top of the world!
Now slam away! and let Thunder banners be unfurled!"
As dry leaves that before the wild tornado fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the rafters, the ballers they flew,
With buckets full of points, and some rebounds too.
And then, in my ears, rising from a trickle,
I heard the music of every little dribble.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down from the rafters, Rumble came with a bound.
He was dressed in his fur, and his Thunder game gear,
from the soles of his feet to the tips of his ears;
A bundle of basketballs he had on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples so grand!
His horns were all pointy, his snout like a ram!
His grinning little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
and the fur of his chin was a dazzling brown-gold;
The sphere of a ball he held tight in his hand,
the smoke from his sleigh filling the stands;
He had a broad face, and a white Thunder jersey,
that jiggled as it moved, like a PJ's legendary belly.
A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to work,
And filled all the baskets, then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, to the rafters he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to the team gave a whistle,
And away he flew, like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, he said as he passed,
"Merry Christmas to all, the Thunder kick [you watch your mouth.]"