‘Twas the night before retirement, and at Bellmont Hall,
not a creature was happy – Mack hired them all.
The boosters were padding their account with care,
in hopes that Coach Saban soon would be there.
The players were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of Sugar Bowls danced in their heads.
And my wife in her PJs, and in my bed,
knew all the hot rumors, around would be spread.
When on Orangebloods there arose such a clatter,
I jumped onto Twitter to see what was the matter.
With Chrome in 3 windows I surfed like a flash,
Logged onto Burnt Orange Nation (no crash!)
The FlightAware addicts had already tracked
and RTR’s website feared they had been hacked.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a burnt orange plane, that looked like a Lear.
With a little passenger so surly and quick,
I knew it a moment it must be Coach Nick.
More rapid than Pitino his championships came,
and he whistled, and shouted, and called out by name:
"Regent Hall! Regent Cranberg! Regents Foster and Hicks!
Regents Horne, Pejovich, and the rest of you dicks!
I come from Bama with my crystal football!
Now go away, go away, GO FUCK YOURSELVES, Y’ALL!"
As tumbleweed across the prairie flies,
The regents ran to spread more of their lies.
So into the airport, that Learjet it flew
With a host of rich boosters, and Coach Saban too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the air
The callers to PAWL crying out in despair.
As I relished their anguish, loved each little sound,
Into Belmont Coach Saban did bound.
He was dressed all in orange from head to foot
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot
(The Father of Lies wanted his soul back,
but Nick bartered for time, and then couldn’t pack.)
His eyes had no sparkle, his face wasn’t merry,
He never would smile, nor demeanor vary.
His mouth was drawn as tight as a bow
when he heard he’d be hosting the Coach Saban Show.
A half PowerBar he held in his mouth,
As he told of how he’d recruit the South.
He saw an intern at a desk with a cracker
and fired him faster than any linebacker.
He was grouchy and mean, a right dour old elf,
But he promised to put up trophies on our shelf.
How with our culture would this new coach blend?
(And how many rules could he possibly bend?)
He spoke not a word, but went straight to work,
And called his recruits (and wasn’t a jerk!)
And giving the finger to College Station,
He told everyone there would be no vacation.
He hired Narduzzi, he hired Chad Morris
and told the fans he’d go win for us.
Then I heard him exclaim at the end of the night:
"MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL, TEXAS FIGHT!"