'Twas the Night Before Ducksmas
'Twas the night before Ducksmas, when all through the Pond, not a creature was stirring, not even a Dawn (Wright of course!). The stick tape was placed by the team bench with care, in hopes that Dadzlaf soon would be there.
Wild Wing and his kids club were nestled all snug in their bed, while visions of goals danced around in their heads. And Mamma in her jersey and I in my cap, had just settled our Ducks blanket onto our lap.
When out on the ice there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the tunnel I flew like a flash, tore open the shutter, and threw up the sash.
The center ice paint with newly laid glow, gave the lustre of the playoffs to the rink below, when, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a team of Mighty Ducks decked out in gear.
With a handful of pucks, lively and quick, I knew it was Getzlaf with his trusty ol’ stick. More rapid than Kings, his teammates they came, and he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
"Now Terry! Now Gibson! Now, Rakell and Sam! On, Miller! On, Lindholm! On, Rico and Cam! To the blue line! Off of the wall! Now skate away! Skate away! Skate away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane met, the pucks hit their target when they meet at the net, so up to the cold crease the defenseman flew, with the brute force of Manson and Shattenkirk too.
And then, in a bang, I heard on the ice, the puck hit the boards when the shots weren’t precise. Snug in my seat, my excitement grew, as the Captain gave orders and snot rockets flew.
He was dressed in his gear, from his head to his foot, eggplant and jade with a purpose and mischief afoot. He wound with a blast, the star we’ve all known, and the other team scattered, the puck landing home?
His eyes - how they twinkled his teeth- they did gleam, his chirping was constant as he faced LA’s team; His droll little mouth was on constant retort, secure in his place as the King of this sport. The edge of a mouthguard held in his teeth, he swirled and parried, with swiftness of feet; fierce in the face-off and tough on the boards, warriors brandishing their sticks like swords.
He was tough on the ice, but gentle with fans, He lives the best life with ice, surf, and sand. 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 his work, and made magical plays, then gave us a smirk. And placing his helmet against Gibby’s own, in trust that the leaderships well in his zone.
He sprang off the rink, after the ref gave a whistle, and away they all flew to Gibby like a missile. But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he walked off the ice,
"Happy Ducksmas to all, and to all a good night!"
*Massive stick taps to GREAT friend of the blog, Bonnie Shockey, for her assistance with this article