‘Twas the night before Sunday, and all through the ‘Bank

Not a Jaguar was sleeping; they had Santa Khan to thank.

The koozies were hung by the cooler with care,

In hopes that cold beer would soon also be there.

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The Jags fans were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of victory danced in their heads.

And Shad in his moustache, and Dave in his cap,

And Tony and Gus were prepared for the snap.

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For in 2013 there arose such a Twitter,

That Jags fans had solace when angry or bitter.

And into the headlines they shot like a light,

Prepared at all hours to put up a fight.

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The filth that "reporters" like Hubbuch displayed

Could never defeat the Bold City Brigade.

For, what to our wandering eyes should pop up?

But a teal-colored sleigh, and eight Jaguars cubs!

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The way that his glory went echoing on,

I knew in a moment it must be Shad Khan.

More rapid than Eagles his Jaguars they came,

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

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"Now Gabbert! Now Blackmon! Now Shorts and Posluszny!

On, Scobee! On, Sanders! On, Joeckel and Mincey!

To the field of the ‘Bank! To the streets of Duval!

Now, dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

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And then, in a twinkling, I heard in J-Ville,

A song by Flawda Water that was totally ill.

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

Down the chimney Santa Khan came with a bound!

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He was dressed all in teal, from his head to his toes,

With a splendid handlebar ‘stache right under his nose.

A bundle of victory he’d flung on his back,

And he looked like a savior, to lead our attack.

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His eyes- How they twinkled! His dimples- How merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his upper lip was so hairy!

On his face a smile; he was ready to go!

To bring us to levels that we’d never known!

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A foam, printed shield he held tight in his hand,

To broadcast our message across the whole land.

From his General Caldwell, on whose words we feast,

We sign not Tim Tebow, #EvenIfHesReleased.

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Then he spoke not a word, and went back to his work.

To reveal to the world: Mike Bianchi’s a jerk.

And, laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

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

And away they all flew like a teal, football missile.

But I heard him exclaim, from up upon high,

"Happy NFL Season, and Duval ‘Til We Die!"



