LH Panther Mom
03-23-2005, 03:01 PM
Twas the Knight Before the Regional Semifinals
Twas the night before the regional semis and all through the Pit
Some say West Virginia got lucky, but they are legit.
All the banners were hung from the rafters with care,
In hopes that “St. Bobby” would soon be there.
The Techsans and orphans were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of champions danced in their heads.
I in my Tech boxers and mamma in her Tech teddy
Had just settled our brains for we had to be ready.
When out in the family room there arose such a chatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the TV I jumped with a bound
Grabbed the remote and turned up the sound.
Flickering light, how it danced on the screen,
Casting a post-game strangely serene.
When what to my disbelieving eyes should appear,
But a miniature Bob Knight with a player he holds dear.
Adidas adorned collar, old Coach was lively and quick,
I heard in his whispers claims of St. Nick.
More rapid than inane inquiries his discourses came,
From his lips “HO, HO, HO!” as he broke down the game.
“Now Devonne! Now, Ronald! Now, Jarrius and Zeno!
Kept the assists to turnovers a very good ratio.
From my time at West Point through those at Assembly Hall,
Fundamentals I teach! Now take care of! Take care of! Take care of the ball!”
His eyes how they twinkled! And his throat quite sore,
As ESPN split-screens his game faces of yore.
Peppered locks he had then as all of us know,
And now the hair on his head is as white as the snow.
And then in a twinkling, from my kitchen a commotion,
It was Coach Knight refining an offense called Motion.
As I drew in my head, disbelieving what I saw
“Let me tell you about tomorrow,” from his mouth came the call.
He was dressed all in black, from his head to his shoes,
Save an O’Reilly monogram - come game time he must lose.
A bundle of trophies he had flung on his back,
Bruins and Bulldogs had already been sacked.
The end of a pen he held tight in his teeth,
An aura of knowledge encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a flushed face and big round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!
He spoke of concern for the Mountaineer Trees;
How Tech must spread their offense in Albuquerque.
And laying her finger aside of my nose,
My wife gave a tickle and awake I arose.
As I went back to bed, thinking all but a dream,
One thing for sure, Texas Tech is one of sixteen.
And just before I cancelled the light,
I wished “A great tournament to all, and to all a good Knight!”
-a poem from the Church of the Latter-Day Santas
Twas the night before the regional semis and all through the Pit
Some say West Virginia got lucky, but they are legit.
All the banners were hung from the rafters with care,
In hopes that “St. Bobby” would soon be there.
The Techsans and orphans were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of champions danced in their heads.
I in my Tech boxers and mamma in her Tech teddy
Had just settled our brains for we had to be ready.
When out in the family room there arose such a chatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the TV I jumped with a bound
Grabbed the remote and turned up the sound.
Flickering light, how it danced on the screen,
Casting a post-game strangely serene.
When what to my disbelieving eyes should appear,
But a miniature Bob Knight with a player he holds dear.
Adidas adorned collar, old Coach was lively and quick,
I heard in his whispers claims of St. Nick.
More rapid than inane inquiries his discourses came,
From his lips “HO, HO, HO!” as he broke down the game.
“Now Devonne! Now, Ronald! Now, Jarrius and Zeno!
Kept the assists to turnovers a very good ratio.
From my time at West Point through those at Assembly Hall,
Fundamentals I teach! Now take care of! Take care of! Take care of the ball!”
His eyes how they twinkled! And his throat quite sore,
As ESPN split-screens his game faces of yore.
Peppered locks he had then as all of us know,
And now the hair on his head is as white as the snow.
And then in a twinkling, from my kitchen a commotion,
It was Coach Knight refining an offense called Motion.
As I drew in my head, disbelieving what I saw
“Let me tell you about tomorrow,” from his mouth came the call.
He was dressed all in black, from his head to his shoes,
Save an O’Reilly monogram - come game time he must lose.
A bundle of trophies he had flung on his back,
Bruins and Bulldogs had already been sacked.
The end of a pen he held tight in his teeth,
An aura of knowledge encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a flushed face and big round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!
He spoke of concern for the Mountaineer Trees;
How Tech must spread their offense in Albuquerque.
And laying her finger aside of my nose,
My wife gave a tickle and awake I arose.
As I went back to bed, thinking all but a dream,
One thing for sure, Texas Tech is one of sixteen.
And just before I cancelled the light,
I wished “A great tournament to all, and to all a good Knight!”
-a poem from the Church of the Latter-Day Santas