'Twas the night before Draftmas, when all through the League,
Not a player was stirring, not even for TPE;
The stocks were mocked in the media with care,
In hopes that St. GM soon would be there;
The players were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of ultimus victories danced in their heads;
And teams with their draft boards, and dealing with cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
When out on the stream there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the discord to see what was the matter.
Away to the app I flew like a flash,
Tore passed the adds and threw up the chat.
The light on the screen of the new-fallen stream
Gave the lustre of mid-day to the prospects one dream,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sweetwater, and eight tiny commenteers,
With a little old NOLA, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be the first pick.
More rapid than eagles the picks they came,
And prospects whistled, and shouted, as teams called them by name;
"Now, SWEET! now, NOKA! now, JAY and KACEY!
On, SLM! on DTF! on, WALDO and TOASTY!
To the top of the draft! to your teams as they call!
Now sign away! sign away! sign away all!"
As confetti that before the celebrations fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, contracts to the sky,
So up to the locker rooms the coursers they flew,
With the contracts full of money, and some media too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the stream
The yelling and cheering of each little team.
As I drew in my eyes, and scrolled through the chat,
A message from St. GM came with a pat.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with victories and soot;
A bundle of picks he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old GM,
And I laughed when I saw him, in love with his grin;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the draft boards; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chat he rose;
He sprang to his war room, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
HAPPY DRAFTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!
Not a player was stirring, not even for TPE;
The stocks were mocked in the media with care,
In hopes that St. GM soon would be there;
The players were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of ultimus victories danced in their heads;
And teams with their draft boards, and dealing with cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
When out on the stream there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the discord to see what was the matter.
Away to the app I flew like a flash,
Tore passed the adds and threw up the chat.
The light on the screen of the new-fallen stream
Gave the lustre of mid-day to the prospects one dream,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sweetwater, and eight tiny commenteers,
With a little old NOLA, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be the first pick.
More rapid than eagles the picks they came,
And prospects whistled, and shouted, as teams called them by name;
"Now, SWEET! now, NOKA! now, JAY and KACEY!
On, SLM! on DTF! on, WALDO and TOASTY!
To the top of the draft! to your teams as they call!
Now sign away! sign away! sign away all!"
As confetti that before the celebrations fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, contracts to the sky,
So up to the locker rooms the coursers they flew,
With the contracts full of money, and some media too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the stream
The yelling and cheering of each little team.
As I drew in my eyes, and scrolled through the chat,
A message from St. GM came with a pat.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with victories and soot;
A bundle of picks he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old GM,
And I laughed when I saw him, in love with his grin;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the draft boards; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chat he rose;
He sprang to his war room, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
HAPPY DRAFTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!
![[Image: esqcjQT.png]](https://i.imgur.com/esqcjQT.png)
![[Image: w5rlQAy.gif]](https://i.imgur.com/w5rlQAy.gif)
![[Image: 015p.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/wMkKHbRp/015p.png)
