RP: Twas the Night Before Christmas

2017 Edition. Trying to strike a hopeful tone this year. Happy Holidays to all!


'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through Florham Park
Another down season, but there was an unexpected spark;
The playoffs had become a notion so rare,
Yet maybe in a year we might have a prayer;

Last year’s vets were told to hit the road,
And everyone assumed the team would just implode;
And Mikey with his rosters moves, and Coach B in his mood
Found a way to bring a new Jets attitude

When out on the practice field there arose such a clatter,
The safties hit a runner so hard, I thought he would shatter.
Away to end zone number 11 flew in a flash,
May have been undrafted, but he was still very brash.

These players were young as new-fallen snow
On paper this season should be nothing but woe,
But on the field things aren’t always as they appear,
It turned out not to be a totally lost year.

With a journeyman quarterback, keeping them from getting down,
This can’t be right…is it really Josh McCown?
Wasn’t this supposed to be the year we lost every game,
The fans wanted to draft a QB and they called them by name:

"Now, Rosen! now, Darnold! now, Mayfield and Allen!
On, Jackson! on Rudolph! on, Fauk and Thorson!
To the top of the draft! to make a great haul!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away hopes for a windfall!"

As the season winds down and we give a collective sigh,
There will be no postseason nor a draft pick so high,
But this feels very different from seasons we knew,
It seems like there’s a plan from some leaders with a clue.

And then with a knocking I heard at my door
I got up to answer to see what this was for.
As I drew open the door to see who was there,
And it was a bearded guy drinking coffee with care.

He was all in green from his jacket to his tie,
Mr. Mac was here with a little gleam in his eye;
A bundle of unproven players he had brought us this season,
I decided to ask him to give me a reason

So I said, “Hey Mac, what was the plan?”
He gave me a nod and replied “We build through the draft, my good man!”
He could sense on my face some of the “Same Old Jets” gloom
He tried to reassure me by showing me next year’s cap room

He opened his laptop and pulled up a spreadsheet
With Free Agent targets that looked pretty sweet
Then he pulled up the draft board and a gave me a wink
If could pull half this off, maybe we wouldn’t stink

He was laughing and pointing the jolly old elf,
And gave him a hug, in spite of myself;
I asked him to have a good offseason and keep his head,
There have been too many seasons with lots of dread;

But given some of his recent moves, I had faith it would work,
Anything would be better than the last GM jerk,
And laying a finger at the side of his head,
And giving a nod, out the door he led

He sprang to his Lexus, and I noted the behavior
He was on his way to find us a QB savior
But I heard him exclaim, as he released the brake,
“Happy Christmas to all, I’ve got some moves to make!”

 

Season's greetings Jets fans. Bad seasons make for good poems. Enjoy the 2018 edition:

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through Hackensack
Only one creature was stirring, a GM named Macc.
His resume was prepared in the office with care,
For he knew that the Jets roster he created was bare.

The Jets fans were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Nick Bosa danced in their heads.
And Coach Bowles they knew the team would soon scrap,
But it wasn’t quite clear who would be left to manage the cap.

When outside the draft room there arose such a clatter,
Macc sprang from his chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the window he flew like a flash,
Tore off his green tie, and his coffee it spilled with such a splash.

The moon on the hood of his new range rover
Gave him pause to think if all this would soon be over.
When, what to his wondering eyes gave him the sweats,
But a miniature sleigh and eight former Jets.

With a little old driver, staring into the abyss,
He knew in a moment it must be Woody’s bro Chris.
More rapid than unblocked defenders, his players they came,
and he screamed and shouted and called them by name:

"Now Hackenberg! Now Mauldin!
Now, Revis and Tru Johnson!
On, Stewart! On, Devin Smith!
On, Petty and Wilkerson!

To the free agency signings!
To the draft class that fall!
Crash away! Crash away!
They sucked one and all!"

He looked at bad moves before him and let out a sigh,
And tried to speak but instead began to cry.
So he cleared his throat and tried to stop his doom,
“I’ve got a top five pick and lots of cap room!”

And then, he made his case to stay in the fold,
“Remember I traded up to get Sam Darnold.”
He then mentioned Adams, but still wasn’t done.
“What about that trade for Henry Anderson?”

Chris looked over at Macc, from his head to his toe,
And then he walked over to explain the situation’s woe.
These poor Jets fans have suffered enough,
and you tenure as GM has been especially rough.

His eyes how they teared up! Chris’ face, no longer merry.
Macc could tell he was thinking about the God-awful secondary!
Or maybe it was that porous, ineffective offensive line,
and having no pass rush, it was truly asinine!

The Chris glanced at Macc and gave him a look of shame,
“I hate to say it, but you’re not the only one to blame.
Woody saddled you with a coach that you didn’t pick
And his in-game decisions have made me quite sick.”

“And don’t get me started on that idiot Bates.
He calls the wrong play for what the game dictates.
And blaming a GM for penalties would be quite odd.
That catastrophe falls squarely on Todd.”

He spoke not a word, but gave a little smirk,
Macc knew he’d get one more chance to make this work.
He’ll get a new coach and all will be well,
and he almost believed this lie himself he did tell.

He returned to the draft room, and started to hum,
And wondered if maybe he wasn’t that dumb.
But he decided to try and not use reason,
"Happy Christmas to me, I’ve survived another season!"