T'was the Night Before Christmas 
with apologies to Clement Clarke Moore 

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,
not a creature was stirring, not even Bob Rouse.
The skates were all sharpened and re-laced with care,
in hopes that St. Fedorov soon would be there. 

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of overtime danced in their heads.
And Mama in her kerchief, and I in my briefs,
had just settled in to watch the Habs and the Leafs.

When out on the pond there arose such a clatter,
I sprang up, (after the first period) to see what was the matter.
Away to the dashers I flew like a flash,
with my Easton aluminum, I was ready to slash. 

The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,
gave the shine of the Cup to the objects below,
when, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but a miniature Zamboni and a team that is feared.

With a shot that's so heavy, one goalies must dread,
I knew in a moment in must be St. Fed.
More rapid than non-calls, his teammates they came,
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name:

Now Jagr! Now Bure!
Now, Bondra and Roenick,
On Gretzky! On Lindros!
On Yashin and Sakic!
To the top of the slot!
To the crease with you all!
Now skate away! Skate away!
Skate away all! 

As ice shavings that fly when they turn on a dime,
the defensemen are helpless to this type of line.
So out of their own end, the linemates they flew,
with a zamboni full of opponents, and St. Fedorov too. 

And then in a twinkling, I heard at the time,
the slicing of skates, somewhere at the blue line..
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
down the slot came St. Fedorov, and his head wasn't down.

He was dressed all in red from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all torn from the slashes and hooks.
A bundle of pucks he had flung on his back,
and he threw them all down just to give them a whack.

His eyes, how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!
Everyone loved him......even Don Cherry!
His droll little mouth was all drawn up in a bow,
You could tell he was ready to put on his show.
The sweater of a Capital, he held in his teeth,
and a smile that encircled his head like a wreath.
He had broad shoulders, and a tight little belly,
That DID not shake, like a bowl full of jelly. 

He was speedy and shifty, a right jolly young 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, the Wings will be led. 

He spoke a few words, in Russian he uttered,
then filled all the nets with vulcanized rubber.
The last shot he took, his stick he did break,
after giving a nod, off the ice he did skate. 

He sprang to the Zamboni, as light as a thistle,
and disappeared quickly, like a referees whistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!!