With my annual apologies to Clement Clarke Moore ...
’Twas the night before Christmas and all through LeBreton Flats, not a creature was stirring, not even the analytics experts armed with their stats.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care in hopes that in the near future Eugene Melnyk would be able to hold an opening night there.
Pierre Dorion was nestled all snug in his bed.
With visions of another trip to the playoffs this spring dancing in his head.
And, Chris Neil in his helmet, and Guy Boucher in his cap, had just turned out the lights after a long meeting about the neutral-zone trap.