Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a Ramo was stirring, not even a Prust.
The cap circumventions were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Lou Lamoriello soon would be there.
The rookies were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Calder Trophies danced in their heads.
And Dopey in his stats, and Zroid in his advanced stats,
Had just settled down for a long winter's stats are stats are stats.
When out on Legends Row there arose such a clatter,
Zroid sprang from his spreadsheets to see what was the matter.
Away to the window he flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw out the slash.
The moon, like Getzlaf's head, shone on the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of Cup glory to the losers below.
When, what to Zroid wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature car, and eight tiny Made Men veer.
With a little old driver, so stocky and mafioso,
I knew in a moment it must be Lou Lamoriello.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now Robidas! now, Lupul! now, Laich and Michalek!
On, Greening! On, Holland! on, on Horton and Cowen!
To the Marlies! to Quebec! to the Island!
Now go away! Go away! Go away at the wave of my hand!"
As draft busts that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of 2nd round draft picks, and Lamoriello too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Lou Lamoriello came with a bound.
He was dressed all in black, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all bespoke, suit to suit.
A bundle of LTIR he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.
His eyes—how cold! his dimples how also cold!
His cheeks were like ice cubes, his nose—seriously, he's really just fucking cold!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the skin of his chin was as white as the snow.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And sent all the "injured" away; then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!
He sprang to his car, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the mob on a cop's whistle.
But Zroid heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Robidas Island to all, and to all Long Term Injury Reserves!"
