‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through AAC
Not a concession was stirring, not even Seattle’s Best Coffee.
The banners were hung in the rafters with care,
In hopes another championship would soon join them there.
The ManiACCs were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of halftime hot dogs danced in their heads.
And Donnie in his blazer, and Cuban in his tee,
Had just settled their brains after grading prospects A, B, and C.
When out on Victory Plaza there arose such a clatter,
Cuban sprang from the stair stepper to see what was the matter.
Away to the concourse he flew like a flash,
Tore open the doors and and clutched his wad of cash.
The LED screens showing a WFAA show,
Gave the luster of mid-day to the objects below.
When, to Cuban’s wondering eyes should appear,
But a basketball team with injuries who were playing without fear.
With a little old coach, so surly and quick,
Cuban knew in a moment it must be St Rick.
More rapid than fastbreaks his players they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
“Now, Dirk! now, D-Will! now, Powell and Anderson!
On, Curry! On, Barnes! on, Matthews and Gibson!
To the top of the Perot! to the top of NorthPark Mall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”
As basketballs that before the wild 3-pointers fly,
When they meet with nylon, bringing joy to the eye.
So down to the court the players they flew,
With a staff of trainers and coaches, and St Rick too.
And then, in a twinkling, Cuban heard on the court
The dribbling and shooting of a big German practicing his sport.
As Cuban drew in his head, and was turning around,
Down the tunnel from the locker room St Rick came with a bound.
He was dressed in a suit, from his head to his toe,
And his clothes were all sharp as they came from Lombardo.
A bundle of plays he drew up with a knack,
And looked like a madman, just drawing up a stack.
His eyes -- how they glared! His dimples weren’t merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose decidedly not like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up in a pucker,
And the player he coached knew he wasn’t a sucker.
The profane words he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke from his ears circled his head like a wreath.
He had a tall face and mocked Parsons’ belly,
He said it shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!
He was tall and slender, a right surly old sight,
And Cuban laughed when he saw him, without the least bit of slight!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave Cuban to know he may have something to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And coached his players, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up off the bench substitutions rose!
He sprang out of his seat, to his team gave a whistle,
And down the court they ran like the down of a thistle.
But Cuban heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove the players out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, but only if you play basketball right!”