‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Big House
Not a Wolverine was stirring, not even Blake Countess.
The “Go Blue” banner was hung by the tunnel with care,
In hopes that St. Hoke soon would be there.
The student section was passed out all snug in their beds,
While visions of Sugar Bowls danced in their heads.
Vince Smith in his dreadlocks, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a winter breaks nap.
When out in the field, there arose such a clatter,
Not even Fred Jackson could describe what was the matter.
Away to the stadium I flew like a flash,
Tore open the gates, ran past Richard Ash.
The brand new scoreboards gave off a magnificent glow,
Giving the luster of game day to the objects below.
When, what should appear below a 100 foot screen,
But the head honcho of Michigan’s 10-2 team.
This manly new coach, this likeable bloke
I knew in a moment it must be St. Hoke!
More skilled than Buckeyes, his players they came,
And he whistled and pointed and called them by name.
“Now Shoelace! Now Junior!
Now, Kovacs and Roh
On, Van Bergen! On Martavious!
On, Martin and Jake Ryans’ flow
Run to the endzone
Get your hands on the ball
Work hard, do it right
Give it your all!
I remembered the comeback against the Irish that fight,
When they met Notre Dame, under the lights.
All over the field, the passes they flew,
To Roundtree and Hemingway, Dileo too.
Back from my daydream, I heard from the seats,
What sounded like a Husker losing his cleats.
Curious, I turned and looked all around
In time to see St. Hoke, yelling “Ball down.”
He was dressed all in blue, no red to be seen
And his arms were both barren, with nary a sleeve.
On top of his noggin, a headset he lacked,
Who needs one of those when your coaching staff is stacked.
His quarterback was electrifying! His safety walked-on!
His runningback a revelation, Fitzgerald Toussaint!
His kickers made field goals! No really they did!
His team kept on winning, a BCS bid!
Virginia Tech the matchup, in New Orleans they’ll be,
Sugar Bowl Champions sounds good to me!
Wearing maize and blue jerseys, and helmets with wings,
This group of Wolverines did tremendous things.
St. Hoke returned home, a former assistant,
But his big game experience was non-existent.
I’ll admit I wondered if he would have what it takes,
After all, this is Michigan for god’s sakes.
But he spoke all the right words and went straight to work,
And picked up recruits with only a smirk.
And laying a finger aside of his nose,
Giving a point, to the Sugar Bowl he goes.
He sprang to his feet, summoned his team with his whistle,
And down the tunnel they ran like a missile.
And I heard St. Hoke exclaim, as he jogged out of sight,
Hail to the victors! And to all a goodnight!
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