'Twas the night before Christmas, and down in the south, The Hurricanes were playing, to not quite a full house. Starter gear was hung by concessionaires with care, In hopes that young sports fans soon would be there. Network TV execs nestled snug in their beds, While NFL visions danced in their heads. Commissioner Selig prayed for a salary cap, And then settled down, for a long winter's nap. A NASCAR engine's roar wakes us up and alive, It's Jeff Gordon cruisin', in his racecar by Tide. We jump to the window and throw back the sash, There's Commissioner Stern, on a pile of cash. There's Tiger with his Cobra, so lively and quick, It won him The Masters, and he pumped his fist. There's Cheeseheads in Lambeau, cold sick with the flu, But fear not, they wear Nike and eat Chunky Soup. There's Jerry Maguire, sports is a business he feasts on, As a holiday gift, how about a film on Paul Beeston? So who will be next to show us some game? And who next year will we call out by name? "Now, Ebersol! Now, Eisner! Now, Logan and Finchem! On Rupert! On Bettman! Bring on Venus Williams!" From the top of the stadium! To the stores in the malls! Sports Industrialists! Sports Industrialists! Sports Industrialists, All! So we get on our sleigh and we blow on our whistle, We still don't know what Barry was doing with that pistol! But we'd like to exclaim, as we get out of sight, "Happy Holidays to All, And to all a Good Night!"
