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Thought I'd change the original Twas the night before Christmas and give it a distinctly Shot Talk theme. Happy Holidays to you all.
Twas the Night Before a Shot Talker's Christmas
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even the mother of my spouse;
The staff bags were placed by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Scotty Cameron soon would be there;
The hackers were nestled all snug with clubs by the bed,
While visions of Drivers danced in Ezra76's head;
And Token-Hottie in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn from warbirdlover there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters as Crossfire threw up his sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to the 17th green at Augusta below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and dressed in bling,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Sling.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Rockford! now, Sandpiper! now, Wirehair and Eracer!
On, Zaphod! on Indacup! on, Dave and Clemsonhacker!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now swing away! swing away! swing away all!"
As ualtim's swing like a wild hurricane does fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, atleast chip out till you can see blue sky,
So up to the house-top MCDavis' shanks they flew,
With the sleigh full of ProV1s, and St. Slingblade too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The sweepers and diggers like a horse's hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and sssmoking was posing around,
Down the chimney St. Slingblade came with a bound.
He was dressed all in bermuda, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with mud and course soot;
A bundle of wedges he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler or maybe Tmag just opening his Taylormade pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, probably from too much sherry!
The sweat on his brow as a full staff bag he did tow,
And the drool on his chin was frozen as white as the snow;
The stump of a 4 iron he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke of anger encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was angry and gruff, a right surly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I that his next shot would surely bring dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And lined up to the ball; then swung with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove one like Jason Zuback out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and the PGA show is only in a fort-night."
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G5 10.5º G10 17º G10 21º i3 3-PW TM rac Black TP 52º & 56º YES! Callie Putter 
Originally Posted by JEFF4i 
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