A Christmas Time Poem
By Dan Voegler and Garrett Warnell
'Twas the day before Christmas, and all through the town
Every baller was ballin’ or dribblin’ around.
I was practicing threes in the gym when it happened:
A fat man in red walked in for a challenge.
As he entered the gym, how the ballers all squealed!
For there right before them was jolly Father Shaquille!
With a little crossover, like art on an easel
I knew in a second it was The Big Diesel.
His presence was glorious, and he came with a crew.
A posse of ballers whose names I soon knew:
"Now D-Rose! Now Griffin! Now D-Wade and Bronny!
On Stuckey! On Melo! Amar'e and Kobe!
To the top of the rim with an oop from John Wall
Now dunk the ball! Dunk the ball! Dunk the ball, all!"
They came driving and passing and dunking and shooting,
And soon they arrived on my court with sure footing.
So up to the backboard the ballers they jumped,
With headbands on tightly and Nikes laced up.
Between spins and crossovers and all of the boards,
There stood Father O'Neal, round as a magnificent gourd.
He gazed down upon us (his stature was tall),
And asked us so gently if he, too, could ball.
Like lightning he moved, and before I could answer,
He scooped up my ball and left the backboard a shatter.
Amazed were the ballers - their muscles were tense.
They turned and they schemed for a better defense.
It was Kobe who thought it – the plan was quite large:
'Twould be me to step up and take Big Shaqovic's charge!
So Kobe the captain – his valor unmatched
He faked a quick step in The Big Daddy’s path.
He diverted The Diesel right into our trap:
Shaq hurtled toward me and I cried out “Oh crap!”
But my coaching I trusted from Master Phil Jackson -
I knew that our plan could not fail in its action.
Shaq hurtled toward me, crying out with a howl.
But lo and behold - it was an offensive foul!
From down on the court my mind was a boggle:
I had taken a charge from the Big Aristotle!
Though Shaq is bigger and twice that of my weight,
The statement was made that I own the paint.
I stood there to face him, fearing a scuffle,
When instead the large man let out a glorious chuckle!
His laughter infectious, the others joined in.
He turned his head toward me and said with a grin:
“Well done little man – you’ve shown you can ball!”
Then the ballers took leave of the basketball hall.
I watched them exit and head towards the lockers,
Remembering the dunkers, the shooters and shot-blockers.
I sat there excited as I iced down my knee,
For tomorrow is Christmas and the NBA on TNT.
By Dan Voegler and Garrett Warnell
'Twas the day before Christmas, and all through the town
Every baller was ballin’ or dribblin’ around.
I was practicing threes in the gym when it happened:
A fat man in red walked in for a challenge.
As he entered the gym, how the ballers all squealed!
For there right before them was jolly Father Shaquille!
With a little crossover, like art on an easel
I knew in a second it was The Big Diesel.
His presence was glorious, and he came with a crew.
A posse of ballers whose names I soon knew:
"Now D-Rose! Now Griffin! Now D-Wade and Bronny!
On Stuckey! On Melo! Amar'e and Kobe!
To the top of the rim with an oop from John Wall
Now dunk the ball! Dunk the ball! Dunk the ball, all!"
They came driving and passing and dunking and shooting,
And soon they arrived on my court with sure footing.
So up to the backboard the ballers they jumped,
With headbands on tightly and Nikes laced up.
Between spins and crossovers and all of the boards,
There stood Father O'Neal, round as a magnificent gourd.
He gazed down upon us (his stature was tall),
And asked us so gently if he, too, could ball.
Like lightning he moved, and before I could answer,
He scooped up my ball and left the backboard a shatter.
Amazed were the ballers - their muscles were tense.
They turned and they schemed for a better defense.
It was Kobe who thought it – the plan was quite large:
'Twould be me to step up and take Big Shaqovic's charge!
So Kobe the captain – his valor unmatched
He faked a quick step in The Big Daddy’s path.
He diverted The Diesel right into our trap:
Shaq hurtled toward me and I cried out “Oh crap!”
But my coaching I trusted from Master Phil Jackson -
I knew that our plan could not fail in its action.
Shaq hurtled toward me, crying out with a howl.
But lo and behold - it was an offensive foul!
From down on the court my mind was a boggle:
I had taken a charge from the Big Aristotle!
Though Shaq is bigger and twice that of my weight,
The statement was made that I own the paint.
I stood there to face him, fearing a scuffle,
When instead the large man let out a glorious chuckle!
His laughter infectious, the others joined in.
He turned his head toward me and said with a grin:
“Well done little man – you’ve shown you can ball!”
Then the ballers took leave of the basketball hall.
I watched them exit and head towards the lockers,
Remembering the dunkers, the shooters and shot-blockers.
I sat there excited as I iced down my knee,
For tomorrow is Christmas and the NBA on TNT.
