‘Twas the Lockout Before Christmas
‘Twas a few days before Christmas, when all through the game
Not a player was playing, a work stoppage to blame.
Uniforms weren’t hung, the lockers all bare,
with no hope that a season soon would be there.
The children forgotten as they slept in their beds
While visions of ‘95 danced in my head.
Owners in their mansions, Commish in their lap,
had locked us all out for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the internet there arose such a clatter.
Was that reporters gathering with their usual chatter?