It’s Christmas Eve, and to celebrate the arrival of the festive season Kevin Coleman of BackPageFootball has a special rendition of “Twas the night before Christmas” for us to enjoy, taking the classic Christmas carol and giving it a Twitter and Barcelona-inspired shake-up.
A nod to George Ogier, who kindly helped in the composition of the poem.
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a keyboard was stirring, not even a mouse;
The angel Gabriele sat by the TV with care,
In the hope that football soon would be there;
Wilson and ZM were snug in their beds,
While visions of chalkboards danced in their heads;
There’s Tomkins, Kay and Taylor with a cheeky nightcap
As Twitter settled down for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the porch there arose such a clatter,
Glendenning’s home and he’s been on the batter.
Amongst all the noise and the festive kerfuffle
There’s something on Twitter that’s caused quite a ruffle.
The tweets on the page of the new-fallen stream
Gave the lustre of Catalunya to my new Christmas dream,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Sid Lowe tweet, and a link to some cheer,
With a smooth looking driver, a spring in his step,
I knew in a moment that it must be Pep.
More rapid than eagles his players they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now, Pedro! Now, Puyol! Now, Iniesta and Alves!
On, Xavi! On Villa! On, Pique and Valdes!
From the side of the pitch to the back of the net, it’s Lionel Messi, the sure fire bet.
Now win away! Win away! Win away all!”
As the football sits silently before the whistle does blow,
When they meet with an obstacle, known as Mourinho,
So along the green grass the passes they flew,
With the bag full of tricks, and young Pep too.
And then, in a twinkling, I saw with a hoot
The prancing and dancing of each little foot
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the line Number 10 came with a bound.
He was dressed all in glory, from his head to his shoe,
And his clothes were all dazzled in the red and the blue;
A bundle of skills he had flung from his sack,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His tricks – how they twinkled! His skills how enticing!
His legs were like knives, cutting and dicing!
His little left peg was drawn back like a bow,
And towards the goal, goes the ball white as snow.
The tool of his work held tight at his feet,
the crossovers encircled the ball like a wreath;
He’s five foot of muscle, no sign of a belly,
He leaves defenders wobbling like a bowlful jelly!
Not chubby or plump he’s a footballing God
When it comes to the teamsheet he’s first with a nod.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Defenders soon know they have plenty to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And scored all the goals; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a shush, as the celebration goes.
Pep sprang from his seat, to his team gave a whistle,
And now comes the end of your festive epistle.
But I heard him exclaim, under Camp Nou floodlights,
