Adapted by Kimberly Kolb
Original written by Clement Clarke Moore
‘Twas the night before a tourney, when all thro’ the manor,
Not a player was stirring, not even a winger;
The hockey socks were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Lord Stanley soon would be there;
The mites were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of spin-o-ramas danc’d in their heads,
And Mama in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap-
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 breakaway dash,
Tore open the boards, and smashed all the glass.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,
Gave the luster of mid-day to the rink just below;
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a tiny Zamboni, and eight mini rein-deer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than Mikita his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and call’d them by name:
“Now! Toews, now! Sutter, now! Larmer and Kaner,
“On! Savard, on! Secord, on! Murray and Fraser,
“To the top of the goal! To the top of the wall!
“Now breakaway! Breakaway! Breakaway all!”
As dry leaves before the street game do fly,
When they meet with a Blackhawk, mount to the sky;
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the Zamboni full of Toys – and St. Nicholas too:
And then in a twinkling, I heard in the mix,
The prancing and pawing of all of their sticks.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound:
He was dress’d in his gear, from his head to his foot,
His jersey was tarnish’d with ashes and soot;
A bag full of Bauer was flung on his back,
And he look’d 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 so nice,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the ice;
Number twenty-five he wore on his jersey of red,
But instead of a helmet he wore a stocking cap instead.
He had a broad face, and a little round belly
That shook when he played shinny, like a bowl full of jelly:
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I cheered when I saw him in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had no penalty to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And fill’d all the stockings; then turn’d with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprung to his sleigh, 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 Hockey to all, and to all a good night.
I hope you enjoyed my adaptation of this wonderful poem. I am the award-winning author of Lindsey: Love & Intrigue, a romantic thriller (as well as a hockey mom). The protagonist in my story, high school junior Lindsey, has a crush on Chris, who plays hockey. In fact, most of Chapter 24 is about a game he and his friends are playing in. If you haven’t done so already, why not give my new book a try?
“Procrastination is one of the most common and deadliest of diseases
and its toll on success and happiness is heavy…”
Wayne Gretzky
January 26, 1961 –
The Great One
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