12/25/2012 12:02 am ET Updated Feb 23, 2013

Twas The Night Before Knicksmas

Twas the night before Knicksmas, when all through the Garden
Not a big man was stirring, not even Rasheed.
The high tops were laced by the lockers with care,
In hopes that Carmelo soon would be there.

The reserves were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Jill Martin danced in their heads.
And STAT in his street clothes and Woodson his goatee,
Had just settled the game plan: defend, shoot the three.

When out on 33rd, there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from Row G to see what was the matter.
Down to the lobby I flew in a hurry,
Threw open glass doors, wide enough for Eddy Curry.

The moon on the hoods of bright-yellow cabs
Gave the lustre of Time Square to Seventh and Eighth Aves.
When, what to my eyes should appear,
But the Knicks Groove Truck, with eight hoopsters fleet-footed as deer.

With a tall, lithe driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Knick.
More rapid than Celtics his teammates they rose,
And he whistled, and shouted the names sewn to their clothes!

"Now Felton! now, Chandler! now, Brewer and Kidd!
On, Novak! On, Pablo! on J.R. and Shumpert!
To the top of the Atlantic! to the top of the East!
Now dash up! Dash up! No longer last, nor least!"

Unlike lottery teams that before the young Thunder fly,
When they meet with the Heat, these Knicks mount to the sky.
So up the standings these 'bockers they flew,
With the record full of wins, and Kurt Thomas too.

And then, in 24 seconds, I heard trumpeted by Clyde Frazier
The posting and toasting of each orange-hued sneaker.
As I went to the parquet floor, and was turning around,
Down from GardenVision, Melo came with a bound.

He was dressed in home whites, positioned on the wing,
And his uniform was bulked up by that flak jacket thing.
A bundle of shots and points if needed for a comeback,
And he looked like Bernard, only the crown did he lack.

His eyes how they twinkled! jumpers he did bury!
His tattoos tell stories, his grin like a victory!
His wide droll mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the thin beard of his lip was as precise as his free throw.

On the 25th of December he welcomed Kobe in from the West,
With a national audience, each wants to assert he is the best.
They had won a gold medal on team with each as a member,
As Olympians in London before Training Camp began in September!

Melo was long and strong, as sturdy and solid as a tree,
And I cheered when I saw him, yelling M - V - P!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon let others know the Mecca was somewhere to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And dropped 30 points, then turned with a jerk.
He posterized a defender and held, for a moment, a pose,
Giving a nod as up to the rim he rose!

He slammed the ball down, to his team gave chest pounds,
And away they fast broke, quick as speeding sounds.
But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove the lane,
"Happy Knicksmas to all, and to all a good-night!"