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A holiday toast to some of the top stories in sports

A holiday toast to some of the top stories in sports

This night's getting on, with much to discuss:
Barbaro, Bonds and a battering Bus.
We'll talk, we'll toast toward the midnight hour:
Carmelo, Crosby, Carpenter, Cowher.
So it's into the Woods, into the Knight,
And maybe a drink now sounds about right.
There's food on the table _ don't let it spoil _
With some beer in the fridge and flaxseed oil.
No fancy speeches, we'll simply wing this:
Well, hello again, Martina Hingis.
A toast in verse, in song or epistles
To Shaq, Dwyane Wade, two Heat-seeking missiles.
We'll fill our brackets and make our wagers
For you, George Mason, and all mid-majors.
Now's not the time to be contrarian,
But what of Gatlin? What of Marion?
What of Landis and this unseemly mess
That gave sports the look of a CVS?
Blood, testosterone, EPO, urine _
That's all we heard from Paris to Turin.
No one escaped the glare of suspicion,
Leaving new questions, new competition:
A game of shadows that's played fast and loose
While everyone wonders who's on the juice.
So Bonds hit the road and it made us cringe,
With fans hurling insults, barbs, a syringe.
His chase to catch Ruth on the home-run list
Had all of the charm of an oozing cyst.
And looming, of course, an evil axis:
Perjury, steroids and unpaid taxes.
Think this was unpleasant? Distasteful? Rank?
Wait till he's set to pass Hammerin' Hank.
A dry white wine with clams and linguini
For Ryan Howard and Bernardini.
Vodka (straight) for Evgeni Plushenko;
Double, for Nikolay Davydenko.
We'll bring out the best, champagne by all means,
For the great Billie Jean, the King of Queens.
Let's hop on our luge and snap on our skis.
To the Alps, to the games _ toasts, if you please.
Ligety goes boom and Bode goes bust
While Michelle Kwan's dreams go from gold to dust.
We'll glide on our skates for Emily Hughes.
Let's have no talk about paying one's dues.
Way cool, Shaun White (The Flying Tomato).
The skeleton team? One hot potato.
That snowboard hot-dog so overzealous?
Oh, yeah, Lindsey ... something ... Jacobellis.
We'll say a few words (and stick to the rhyme):
To Hedrick and Davis, peace in our time.
And before we leave and put out the flame,
To NBC Sports and the ratings game.
The numbers went south from those at Salt Lake.
Yet good money was made, make no mistake.
Really no need to get suicidal,
But this was no "American Idol."
Cheers! Jimmie Johnson and Joakim Noah.
Good health! Troy Smith, Lorena Ochoa.
We'll pass on regards (by text or by cell)
To Roger Federer, Roger Goodell.
For Kenny Rogers, a bottle of rum,
But make sure to check that smudge on his thumb.
Toast to the World Cup, you poets and bards.
Raise high a glass and some quick yellow cards,
Or if it's Zidane just color them red.
He speaks not from the heart but with the head:
"No lectures about the stakes of this game.
I had to defend my family name.
Talk trash of my sister? Surely you jest.
Mon dieu! So I rammed my skull in his chest.
Belittle my kin? Insult them? Spurn them?
No choice, monsieur, but to crack his sternum.
I had to punish this Materazzi,
And now I'm hounded by paparazzi.
Perhaps I erred in not using my knee.
Well, it's only the World Cup _ c'est la vie."
Here's to Barbaro, all strength and sleekness,
His long road back from a gruesome Preakness.
We'll let the taps flow and open the kegs _
To healthy fetlocks and to sturdy legs.
May he thrive at stud with bountiful mares
And leave lines of champions and equine heirs.
So pour a glass of our finest claret,
With a bale of hay, some oats, a carrot,
A cube of sugar, a taste of heaven
And one last toast ... to 2007.


Updated : 2021-05-06 10:45 GMT+08:00