‘Twas The Night Before Chiefsmas III


For the last couple of years, I’ve had a tradition where I adapt the classic poem “Twas the Night Before Christmas” to make it about our beloved Kansas City Chiefs.

This year I dropped the ball and forgot, which AA’s senior copy editor Natasha pointed out to me recently. Ashamed, I sat down and hammered one out in hopes that it will help you feel cheerful as we head into the offseason.

Thus I continue AA’s long-standing tradition of ridiculous poetry with “Twas The Night Before Chiefsmas, Part III.”

Twas the night before playoffs, when all through the land
All the Chiefs fans were crying, no game was at hand.
Their best jerseys were hung in the closet with care,
In hopes that 20-12 would be easier to bear.

The Donkeys were gloating all smug in their beds.
While visions of Super Bowls danced in their heads.
And Tebow on his throne, and Fox on his lap.
Had just devised a game plan to give Brady a slap.

When out on my lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my desk to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew in a rush,
My eyes met the darkness, my ears just a hush.

The stars were shining but were looking quite dim.
It might’ve just been me, my mood was so grim.
When, what to my dry, bloodshot eyes should appear,
But a dude with some Gates and a round keg of beer.

With a plump old belly, so round and thick,
I knew in a moment it must be some hick.
Now into the porch light he slowly emerged,
“Holy crap, that is Romeo.” My blood pressure surged.

“So Paddy! Big Matt! now Merlin and Vic!
Come Lyle! Natasha! Double D, and Nick!
I’m outside on the porch! With ribs and some beer!
Now open the door, the off season is here.”

Amazed at our fortune I opened the door,
The coach trotted in and started to pour.
The Addicts emerged with sleep in their eyes.
Poor Natasha she lives with all creepy guys.

They asked no questions, only started to eat.
This is Gates we’re talkin bout, “shit’s some good meat.”
As I sucked off some sauce, and was turning around,
The coach raised up his glass which came down with a pound.

He was dressed all in red, from his head to his toes,
And his glasses were foggy atop of his nose.
A bundle of plays he had stuffed in his pack,
And he looked like Lombardi, except he was black.

His eyes-how they twinkled! His hair was snow white!
His cheeks kind of puffy, his smile so bright.
On his lip was a stache, born of 70’s swag,
He once had a afro but he don’t want to brag.

He pulled out those plays he had stuffed in his pack,
Plays unused in Cleveland for the knife in his back.
He laid them all out for the Addicts to see,
The stuff was so brilliant, Vic started to pee.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old coach,
He was so like a granddad, not Haley the roach.
A blitz by E. Berry, and Tamba his peer,
Made us so happy, we cracked open more beer.

He spoke not a word, but just finished his ribs,
He packed up his stuff, the trash and the bibs.
And laying a hand on the side of my arm,
He gave me a nod and said “I’ll do no harm.”

He hopped down the steps, like a man so much younger,
As he trotted towards Arrowhead to quench his hunger,
But we heard him call out, ‘ere he walk down the street,
“I told the Pats how to do it. Tebow they’ll beat.”

Other great AA Poetry:

‘Twas The Night Before Chiefmas II by Patrick Allen

‘Twas The Night Before Football by Patrick Allen (the poem that started it all)

Chiefs To Ravens: “Nevermore!” by Victor Wishna