11th Day of Christmas;
THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS
'Twas the night before the Christmas Volleyball Tournament,
When all through the gym,
Not a player was stirring, they all wanted to win;
The kneepads were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that heat, would un-stink them there.
The players were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of kill-shots danced in their heads;
And the Coach in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains, after a sale, at the GAP,
When out on the beach courts there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my laptop to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a Libero,
Tore open the shutters but it wasn’t no sparrow.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to the beach court below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a mini-van, and a team of eight tiny reindeer,
With a little ole' setter, so lively and quick,
I thought for a moment, it must be some trick.
More rapid than Marauders his hitters they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
'Now, SMASHER! now, DANCER! now, POWER and VIXEN!
On, COMET! on CUPID! on, OFFSIDE and BLITZEN!
To the top of the net! to the top of the pole!
Now hit away! smash away! smash away all!'
As their practice continued, the hitters did fly,
When they met with a block, they tooled to the sky,
Up to their armpits the entire team flew,
Before the attack line they hit, and the setter did too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard him yell "roof",
Then ranting and raving, they called him a goof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the court ran the setter, he came with a bound.
He was dressed only in shorts, from his foot to his head,
And his knees were all bloody, "from the diving", he said.
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the hair on his chest was all covered in sand and snow.
THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS
'Twas the night before the Christmas Volleyball Tournament,
When all through the gym,
Not a player was stirring, they all wanted to win;
The kneepads were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that heat, would un-stink them there.
The players were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of kill-shots danced in their heads;
And the Coach in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains, after a sale, at the GAP,
When out on the beach courts there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my laptop to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a Libero,
Tore open the shutters but it wasn’t no sparrow.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to the beach court below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a mini-van, and a team of eight tiny reindeer,
With a little ole' setter, so lively and quick,
I thought for a moment, it must be some trick.
More rapid than Marauders his hitters they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
'Now, SMASHER! now, DANCER! now, POWER and VIXEN!
On, COMET! on CUPID! on, OFFSIDE and BLITZEN!
To the top of the net! to the top of the pole!
Now hit away! smash away! smash away all!'
As their practice continued, the hitters did fly,
When they met with a block, they tooled to the sky,
Up to their armpits the entire team flew,
Before the attack line they hit, and the setter did too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard him yell "roof",
Then ranting and raving, they called him a goof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the court ran the setter, he came with a bound.
He was dressed only in shorts, from his foot to his head,
And his knees were all bloody, "from the diving", he said.
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the hair on his chest was all covered in sand and snow.
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