'Twas the Night Before the 2010's

'Twas the night before Pairings, when all through the house

Players in search for tech, each madly clicking their mouse.

The sleeves were all placed by the backpacks with care,

In hopes that Sick Tech soon would be there;

The players, all blurry-eyed avoiding their beds,

While visions of fancy plaques danced in their heads;

While TO’s in their bliss and I with my map,

Were about to settle in for a brief autumn nap,

When out in the lobby there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the table to see what was the matter.

Away to the entrance I flew like a flash,

Tore open the door; nearly breaking the glass.

The light of the lamps reflected tablecloths like snow

And gave the vision of a tournament ready to go,

When, what to my wondering eyes did show,

But a player and posse, with eight mighty pros,

The hard charging driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be Sick Tech.

More rapid than eagles his entourage came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Chapin! now, Brad! now, Flores and Gerry!

On, Brian! on Gavin! on, Todd and Conley!

To the top of the standings! To the top of the calls!

Now Clash Away! Clash Away! Clash Away All!"

Just like new sleeves with the very first shuffle,

When they meet their opponent, prepared for the scuffle,

So off to the tables the posse they flew,

With decks full of gas, and Sick Tech too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard in the hall

The flick of the cards as each foe took their fall.

As I drew in my breath, and was turning again,

Quick from the feature match Sick Tech came with a win.

A bundle of tech he had flung in his stack,

And looking like a drafter with bombs in his pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his grin how merry!

His cheeks were like fireballs, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the scruff of his chin had just started to grow;

The hard chewed pen he held tight in his teeth,

As adoring players gathered round like a wreath;

He had a bright face with a splash of black ink,

That showed when he laughed as he tossed me a wink.

He was tight player, a hip modern elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

Another wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Made clear now I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, and with a pump of the fist,

Did all the math and passed out the lists,

And palming his phone aside of his ear,

Called to his posse “Let’s get out of here”

He sprang out the hall, to his fans gave a whistle,

And away the team flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,

"Merry States to all, and to all a good-night."