‘Twas 12 days before Christmas, and all through the state
The weather was failing at a miserable rate.
The ground was just soggy, no snow to be had,
the garland left sagging, red ribbons looked sad.
At Lambeau the grounds crew rose early again
to ready the field for more cursed rain.
Wet fans at their tailgates, wore slickers and boots
and worried receivers would mess up their routes.
Round sizzling grills arose common chatter
Hope Lacy is ready, the run game will matter.
Away to the stadium, they waited in line
in hopes that this home game, their team would be fine.
When what to their wondering eyes should appear
but a coach named McCarthy, to a wet-mittened cheer.
With clipboard in plastic, headphones on his cap
He pumped up the offense, gave shoulders a slap
Now Rodgers! Now Linsley! Now Sitton and Cobb!
On Adams! Bulaga! Now Don, do your job!
To the top of the league! To the top of them all!
I’m here with the plays, today I’ll make the calls.
His eyes how they twinkled, he said, “Take your marks.”
Then set off the run game with Eddie and Starks.
And laying a finger aside of his nose,
he turned to the defense. To the challenge they rose.
Clay sprang to Matt Cassel and, shaking hair back,
he racked up five tackles and one mighty sack.
Sam Shields grabbed a pick before taking a shot.
And Micah roamed freely. He covered a lot.
They did this in spite of the ref’s constant whistle
Eight penalties stung like the down of a thistle.
But I heard them explain as they left ole Lambeau.
We’re back where we should be. Woo hoo! Go Pack Go!
