T'was the Night Before Christmas in the CCHL

T'was the night before Chrsitmas, when all thro' the CCHL House,

Not a creature was stirring, not even Amos (with a trade);

The rumours were stoked by the hot-stove with care,

In hopes that a Kehler Cup soon would be there;

The GM were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of Bedard danc'd in their heads,

And Springfield in their rebuild, the Thunder looking to scrap,

Had just settled in Capeside’s brains for Kreider’s long winter's nap-

When out on the ice there arose such a clatter,

They sprang from the desks to see what was the matter.

Away to the Slack they flew like an IceCats’ McDavid dash,

Tore open the chat window, readied for the clash.

The Norsemen had fallen on hard times in the 22-23 show,

Gave the lustre of selling all players, they didn’t want to blow;

When, what to our wondering eyes should became available,

But a Crackerjacks GM, and the Miners wanted what was saleable,

Was Geno Malkin, going to Moscow or was it the Donuts

I knew in a moment it wasn’t the Reign.

More rapid than the Chinook, his suiters they came,

His agent whistled, and shouted, and call'd them by name:

"Now! Bismarck, now! Las Vegas, now! Tampa, and Parry Sound,

"On! Fort Erie, on! Victoria, on! Val-d’Or to the top of the first round;

"To the best of the offers! to the top of the picks and prospects!

"Now pony up! Pony up! Pony up all!"

 No the Owls offer for Geno won’t be that high,

 Ask for Tage Thompson, the Scorpions will begin to cry;

So up to the offices of the Spurs the Campers flew,

With the legend Malkin- and his equipment too:

And then in a twinkling, I heard from the Millers,

They were looking for some stop-gap fillers.

As interest in Geno grew in my head, the return would likely astound,

When back came Chippawa looking to hound:

Charlie was dressed like a realtor from his head to his foot,

And his assets were all tarnish'd because of Risto’s slow foot;

A bundle of late round picks were flung on his board,

And he look'd like a peddler just looking to hoard:

His eyes - how they twinkled! his dimples how merry,

His cheeks were like roses, he disliked Don Cherry;

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

He was determined to be better than Garth Snow;

But then in an instant, Amos swept-in,

Stole ol’ Geno out from underneath Chippawa’s chin

Max had a broad face, and a laugh in his belly

The heist he just made, deserved an on-ice celly:

He was pleased with himself and feeling quite clever,

And when the trade was sent in, it also involved Trevor;

It was a three-way deal, the league offices had come to dread,

It would be up to Bobby to allocate the financial bread!

The commish spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And moved all the players; he didn’t want to be a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose

While processing the trade he suddenly froze.

He sprung to his email, to the GMs he did give a chat,

I can’t process the trade, it’s the incorrect format:

But I heard him exclaim, as he called out the plight-

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.