SkolTroll's Power Rankings Week 16 - Christmas in Skol Land
Dec 19, 2023 21:45:01 GMT -6
Funkytown, Purple Pain, and 1 more like this
Post by Skol Troll on Dec 19, 2023 21:45:01 GMT -6
’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Bank
Half the fans were stirring, thinking their team stank;
The beer cans were hung by the end table with care
In hopes that St. Kirko Chainz soon would be there;
Davenport was nestled all snug in his bed,
Because he didn't work for his money, he'd rather play dead;
And mamma in her jersey, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for another January nap,
When out on the turf there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my Lazyboy to see what was the matter.
Away to the laptop I flew like a flash,
Tore open the internet and hid my legal stash.
The moon of my butt, white as the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of caring to the river below,
When, what to my trolling eyes did give apprisal,
But a miniature season, and two tiny rivals,
With a little real chance, but to back in real quick,
I knew in a moment I should come up with some schtick.
More winning than Eagles his teammates they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, Mettellus! now, Blackmon! Now, Pace and Murphy!
On, Wonnum! on, Hunter! on, Smith with da blitzen!
To the top of the QB! To the bottom he must fall!
Now keep away! Keep away! Keep away all!”
As green dots that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, they smack into that guy;
So up to the division-top the defense they flew,
With the game full of wins, because our backups won't do.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the ceiling
The prancing and pawing of a new happy feeling.
As I turned of my Twitter, and no reddit around,
Down the sideline St. Jefferson came with a bound.
He was dressed all in chains, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all purple, white and gold to boot;
A bundle of gameballs he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a superstar just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His hands were like velcro, his catches were cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin (or was there one? I dunno);
The stump of a mouthguard he held tight in his grill,
And the smoked CBs encircled his feet like fresh kill;
He had a thin face and a 6-pack belly,
And when you looked at him close, kinda looked like Nelly?
He was fleet and quite fabulous, a Hall of Fame wide receiva,
And I laughed when I saw him, 'cause he ain't any diva;
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 endzones; the Griddy his quirk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the stats board he rose;
He sprang to his sideline, to his team gave a boost,
And away they all flew to the playoffs all juiced.
And I heard him exclaim, as he ran out of sight,
“Skol Christmas to all, and we'll end the season right!”
Merry Christmas, Vikings fans!
Half the fans were stirring, thinking their team stank;
The beer cans were hung by the end table with care
In hopes that St. Kirko Chainz soon would be there;
Davenport was nestled all snug in his bed,
Because he didn't work for his money, he'd rather play dead;
And mamma in her jersey, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for another January nap,
When out on the turf there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my Lazyboy to see what was the matter.
Away to the laptop I flew like a flash,
Tore open the internet and hid my legal stash.
The moon of my butt, white as the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of caring to the river below,
When, what to my trolling eyes did give apprisal,
But a miniature season, and two tiny rivals,
With a little real chance, but to back in real quick,
I knew in a moment I should come up with some schtick.
More winning than Eagles his teammates they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, Mettellus! now, Blackmon! Now, Pace and Murphy!
On, Wonnum! on, Hunter! on, Smith with da blitzen!
To the top of the QB! To the bottom he must fall!
Now keep away! Keep away! Keep away all!”
As green dots that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, they smack into that guy;
So up to the division-top the defense they flew,
With the game full of wins, because our backups won't do.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the ceiling
The prancing and pawing of a new happy feeling.
As I turned of my Twitter, and no reddit around,
Down the sideline St. Jefferson came with a bound.
He was dressed all in chains, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all purple, white and gold to boot;
A bundle of gameballs he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a superstar just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His hands were like velcro, his catches were cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin (or was there one? I dunno);
The stump of a mouthguard he held tight in his grill,
And the smoked CBs encircled his feet like fresh kill;
He had a thin face and a 6-pack belly,
And when you looked at him close, kinda looked like Nelly?
He was fleet and quite fabulous, a Hall of Fame wide receiva,
And I laughed when I saw him, 'cause he ain't any diva;
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 endzones; the Griddy his quirk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the stats board he rose;
He sprang to his sideline, to his team gave a boost,
And away they all flew to the playoffs all juiced.
And I heard him exclaim, as he ran out of sight,
“Skol Christmas to all, and we'll end the season right!”
Merry Christmas, Vikings fans!
... and neither is this Chris guy.