'Tis the week before Christmas,
And for many holiday seasons that we remember,
Those beloved Broncos
Haven't been such an enigma
As Colorado nears the end of December.
Stockings soon will be hung
By the gas fireplaces with care,
Hoping that John Elway
Won't keep the cupboard so bare.
Children are getting ready for the big day,
Dreams of toys and sugar plums
Swirling in their contented heads
As they crawl into their warm beds,
And their moms and dads think of Broncos
Which forces them to swallow their meds.
Broncos merchandise is on clearance
For 75 percent off at Targets and Walmarts;
Fans don't buy any orange-and-blue stuff,
'Cause the 5-9 record has broken their hearts.
On the day before Christmas,
Denver will have to play outside Washington D.C.,
Not a creature will be stirring and viewing back home,
Not even the Aqib Talib family and the friends of D.T.
On Christmas Eve
On lawns all over Colorado Springs
There will arise such a clatter,
Folks will jump up from their egg noggs and night fogs
To see what's the matter.
Away to the windows they'll fly in a flash
To open the curtains and throw up the sash.
The moon on the crest of the new-fallen snow
Will give luster of mid-day to a person below,
When, what to their wondering eyes should appear?
Is Santa arriving in a sleigh with eight reindeer?
No, it will be a woman runner who stopped to stoop
And create such a racket when she chooses to poop.
But, soon, a cherubic, old man dressed in red
Will arrive on the roof with Rudolph ahead.
We'll know in a moment that the guy has to be Mr. Claus.
Instead of being jolly, he'll shout out the Broncos' flaws.
"Why not a Bronc like Gronk! Now, they need Dashers, not Dancers! On Comets, not Cupids! They have a Pro Bowler in The Vonner, but the rest are like deer Donner in the headlights! Now, more Blitzin'! Get 'em up to swell play, Elway! "How did Vance let them become so askance?"
And, then, in a twinkling, I'll hear on the roof,
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof,
As I draw in my hand, and am turning around,
There'll be a rumbling - the traditional sound.
Down the chimney St. Nicolas will come with a bound.
"What's with the Broncos' offense? It does confound."
"I have a satellite dish and watch sports at the North Pole.
"The Broncos didn't come close to reaching their ultimate goal.
"Their objective each week was to have no L.
"Even Noel would agree? The Broncos' season went to L."
His eyes - how they won't twinkle anymore;
His dimples no longer will be merry.
His cheeks will be the color of wilted roses,
His nose will be runny, not cherry.
His droll mouth will be drawn up in a scorn,
His beard will be dull and gray
And he will seem so sad and forlorn.
The stump of a pipe he'll hold clenched in his teeth,
The smoke will encircle his head like a funeral wreath.
He will have a firm face and a furrowed brow that won't win it,
And his outfit will look like ol' Kris Kringle had slept in it.
He will be annoyed and not a cheerful elf.
I will cry because he's not his former self.
He will speak not a word, but go straight to his work.
He will fill all the stockings with coal, sticks and things
That annually would be left under a tree for a jerk.
Santa will stand and stare and act rather haughty:
"This year the Broncos haven't been nice, but naughty.
"And because of their crummy, rotten team,
"Christmas cannot be as usual, it must seem."
And laying a finger next to his nose,
He will be up and out of the house.
And so it goes.
He will climb back in his sleigh and take off,
As he flies into the night his red cap he will doff,
He will exclaim in my ear:
"Just wait until next year."
Have a merry and a happy holidays, anyway.