Wednesday, 24 December 2014
A visit from St Johan, The Night Before Christmas
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The wage slips were hung by the ledgers with care,
In the hopes that St Johan soon would be there.
The players were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Kruger-Rands danced in their heads.
And Mark in his ‘Kerchief and Edd in his salary cap,
Had just settled their accounts for a long winter’s nap.
When out in the press there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the boardroom to see what was the matter.
Away to Microsoft Windows I flew like a flash,
And wrote a stinging press release in a dash.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen dough
Gave the lustre of lucre to the objects below.
What, to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature South African, and thirteen tiny reindeer.
With a little old driver, so lively, quick as a swan,
I knew in a moment it must be St Johan!
More rapid than Ashton his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and Mexican Waved, and called them by name!
Now Morne! Now, Caroline! Now, Stephen & Dominic! Now, Nicholas, Now Nigel! Come On, see you all!
On Francois, On Clement, On Faffa & Lucas, On Mitesh, on Eddie & On Stephen Hall!
To the top of the Prem! To the top of the wall!
Now stash away! Stash Away! Stash away all!
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with regulations, salaries to the sky!
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With a sleigh full of South African bank accounts, and St Johan too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Johan came with some pounds.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to foot,
And his trophies were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of pound notes he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a spiv, just opening his pack.
His coins-how they twinkled! His pennies how merry!
His cheques were like roses, his notes like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the crunch of his tenners as crisp as the snow.
The stump of his pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old Boer,
And I asked for some players , I just wanted more!
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 player's South African bank accounts, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Something special is happening at Saracens, and to all a good-night!"