Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the hall
Not a creature was stirring, not a rack, not a ball.
The cues were all stored in their racks with much care,
With hopes that St. Runout soon would be there.
The ball sets were nestled, all snug in their box,
While I closed all the doors, and locked all the locks.
The bartender in his jacket, and I in my cap,
Were ready to head home, for some food and a nap.
When back in the hall, there arose such a clatter,
I unlocked the door, to see what was the matter.
Away to the light switch, I flew like a flash...
Tripped over the can, and fell in the trash.
A beer-sign of neon, with a soft gentle glow,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to the mess down below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a man in a tux, with a cue and a beard
He racked up a game, and popped open a can,
I knew in a moment it must be ' The Man'.
More rapid than eagles his ball-runs they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name..
"Now one ball !
Now, two ball !
Now, three ball, now four !
On, five ball !
On, six ball !
Don't land on the floor !
To the top of the rack! to the top of the kitchen!
I'll run at least 100, and it will be bytchen!"
He was dressed all in black, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all flawless, with no ashes or soot.
A bundle of cues he'd brought in on his back,
It was a wonderful sight when he opened his pack.
His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, he smelled a little like Sherry.
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a swell,
And the beard on his chin made him look like George Fels.
The stump of a cigar, he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled, his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he shot, like a bowl full of jelly!
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, as I picked trash off myself.
A wink of his eye, and the shot of ball,
And I knew right away, he'd keep shooting them all...
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled every pocket, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
he flew out to his limo, and the door he did close..
He leaned up to his driver, and gave him a whistle,
And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, as they drove out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
----
Tonight on ABR we're sending a special holiday greeting out to all our friends and family and we'll be sharing chapter 2 of The Fabulous Mr. Ponzi.
( 1948 autobiography of 3time world pocket billiard champion )
Join us @ 9pm CST www.americanbilliardradio.com
Not a creature was stirring, not a rack, not a ball.
The cues were all stored in their racks with much care,
With hopes that St. Runout soon would be there.
The ball sets were nestled, all snug in their box,
While I closed all the doors, and locked all the locks.
The bartender in his jacket, and I in my cap,
Were ready to head home, for some food and a nap.
When back in the hall, there arose such a clatter,
I unlocked the door, to see what was the matter.
Away to the light switch, I flew like a flash...
Tripped over the can, and fell in the trash.
A beer-sign of neon, with a soft gentle glow,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to the mess down below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a man in a tux, with a cue and a beard
He racked up a game, and popped open a can,
I knew in a moment it must be ' The Man'.
More rapid than eagles his ball-runs they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name..
"Now one ball !
Now, two ball !
Now, three ball, now four !
On, five ball !
On, six ball !
Don't land on the floor !
To the top of the rack! to the top of the kitchen!
I'll run at least 100, and it will be bytchen!"
He was dressed all in black, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all flawless, with no ashes or soot.
A bundle of cues he'd brought in on his back,
It was a wonderful sight when he opened his pack.
His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, he smelled a little like Sherry.
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a swell,
And the beard on his chin made him look like George Fels.
The stump of a cigar, he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled, his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he shot, like a bowl full of jelly!
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, as I picked trash off myself.
A wink of his eye, and the shot of ball,
And I knew right away, he'd keep shooting them all...
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled every pocket, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
he flew out to his limo, and the door he did close..
He leaned up to his driver, and gave him a whistle,
And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, as they drove out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
----
Tonight on ABR we're sending a special holiday greeting out to all our friends and family and we'll be sharing chapter 2 of The Fabulous Mr. Ponzi.
( 1948 autobiography of 3time world pocket billiard champion )
Join us @ 9pm CST www.americanbilliardradio.com
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