a little early for Christmas?
This was posted on the Cross Crusade Forum on Saturday, before the Cross Crusade kick-off at Alpenrose. Kudos to John Wilson for the nice creativity!!!!
T’was the night before CrossCrusade, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The tubulars were stretched and glued with great care, In hopes that a podium finish soon would be near.
The crusaders were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of leg searing run-ups danced in their heads.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
When, what to my wondering eyes shown in the light, But an orange & green Chariot, led by eight shiny knights.
With a dastardly old driver, so conniving and cross, I knew in a moment that it must be Brad Ross
And sitting beside him looking all prim and pretty Was that devilish course designer Mr. Brian Witty
More rapid than Trebon & Wicks his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now Donovan! now, Potestio! now, Slingsby and Splinter!
On, Candi! On, Terri! on, Humberston! and Meyers!
To the top of the barrier! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
As dry leaves behind the wild pack do fly, When they meet with an obstacle, they leap to the sky.
So over the run-up the coursers they raged, With Mr Ross and Mr Witty and a chariot laden with Swag
And then, once again, I heard such a clatter The partying and ringing cow bells of each cross crusader
As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Through the front door that Witty came with a bound.
He was dressed all in chain maul, from his head to his foot, And his armor was all tarnished with Alpenrose mud, and Barton Park soot.
A bundle of Swag he had flung on his back, And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old Knight, And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of my plight!
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, Handing out McTarnahans to all, then turned with a jerk
And then a wave of a beer by the side of his face He gave a big nod and took off for the race
He sprang to his chariot, to his team gave a kick, And away they all flew like on the legs of Kevin Hulick.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he raced out of sight, "Happy Cross Crusade to all, and to all a good-night!"
Good Luck tomorrow Crusaders !
John Wilson
T’was the night before CrossCrusade, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The tubulars were stretched and glued with great care, In hopes that a podium finish soon would be near.
The crusaders were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of leg searing run-ups danced in their heads.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
When, what to my wondering eyes shown in the light, But an orange & green Chariot, led by eight shiny knights.
With a dastardly old driver, so conniving and cross, I knew in a moment that it must be Brad Ross
And sitting beside him looking all prim and pretty Was that devilish course designer Mr. Brian Witty
More rapid than Trebon & Wicks his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now Donovan! now, Potestio! now, Slingsby and Splinter!
On, Candi! On, Terri! on, Humberston! and Meyers!
To the top of the barrier! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
As dry leaves behind the wild pack do fly, When they meet with an obstacle, they leap to the sky.
So over the run-up the coursers they raged, With Mr Ross and Mr Witty and a chariot laden with Swag
And then, once again, I heard such a clatter The partying and ringing cow bells of each cross crusader
As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Through the front door that Witty came with a bound.
He was dressed all in chain maul, from his head to his foot, And his armor was all tarnished with Alpenrose mud, and Barton Park soot.
A bundle of Swag he had flung on his back, And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old Knight, And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of my plight!
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, Handing out McTarnahans to all, then turned with a jerk
And then a wave of a beer by the side of his face He gave a big nod and took off for the race
He sprang to his chariot, to his team gave a kick, And away they all flew like on the legs of Kevin Hulick.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he raced out of sight, "Happy Cross Crusade to all, and to all a good-night!"
Good Luck tomorrow Crusaders !
John Wilson
posted by maddog202020 at 8:51 AM
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