Jonathan Long
Somebody forget something?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rlFUhxvT1UI
T'was the night before CrossCrusade, when all through the house not a
creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The tubulars were all stretched and
glued with great care in hopes that a podium finish soon would be near.
Crusaders were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of leg searing
run-ups danced in their heads.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to
see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open
the shutters and threw up the sash.
When, what to my wondering eyes shown in the light, But an orange & green
Winnebago, piloted by eight shiny Knights.
With a dastardly old driver, so conniving and cross, I knew in a moment that
it must be Brad Ross. And sitting beside him full of Brandy and Crimson was
that devilish course designer, Mr. Andy Wilson.
More rapid than Trebon & Wicks his coursers they came, and he whistled, and
shouted, and called them by name!
Now Raynak! now, Potestio! now, Slingsby and Splinter! On, Candi! On, Terri!
on, Humberston! and Meyers! To the top of the barrier! to the top of the
wall! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!
As dry leaves behind the wild pack do fly, when they meet with an obstacle,
they leap to the sky. So over the run-up the coursers they raged, Wilson and
Ross, dangling behind, were showing their age. (totally upstaged)
They may be without retired Brian Witty but not the pile of swag supplied by
River City.
And then, once again, I heard such a clatter the Cow Bells and screaming of
each cross crusader.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around, through the front door he came
with a bound. Faster than a sprinting Marianne Voss, it was the King
Crusader himself, the grandmaster Brad Ross
He was dressed all in chain maul, from his head to his foot, and his armor
was all tarnished with Alpenrose mud, and Barton park soot. A bundle of Swag
he had flung on his back, and he looked like a peddler, just opening his
sack.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old Knight, And I laughed when I saw
him, in spite of my plight! He spoke not a word, but went straight to his
work, handing out Deschutes to all, then turned with a jerk. With a wave of
a beer and a smile on his face he gave a big nod and took off for the race.
He sprang to his bus, to his team gave a kick, and away they all flew like
on the legs of Kevin Hulick.
But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he raced out of sight, "Happy Cross Crusade to
all, and to all a good-night!"
Good Luck tomorrow Crusaders !