'Twas the night before Quizmas, when within Butcher's Dog,
The bartender was stirring a brandy eggnog;
The answer books and pens laid on tables with care,
In hopes that the Quizmaster soon would be there;
The players were nestled all snug in their seats,
While visions of drinking rounds pulled them off of the streets;
And girlfriends and boyfriends in blue Laker caps,
Had just settled down with their platefuls of apps,
When out on the parking lot rose such a clatter,
I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew with my beer,
On the way I spilled some, but not out of fear.
The moon glinted off of the asphalt so black,
Accenting the darkness of each separate car track,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a hybrid Ford C-Max into the parking lot did steer,
With a young handsome driver, singing lively (if pitchy),
I knew in a moment it must be Trav Richey.
More quiet than owls his hybrid did ride,
And he whistled, and shouted, and open'd his door wide;
His eyes -- how they twinkled! all blue they shone bright!
His cheeks were like roses, in the chill of the night!
His crooked li'l mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And I marveled at all of the things he must know;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
He put up the speakers; then turned with a jerk,
Turning on the mic he said "testing, one, two",
And gave nods to the players both old and the new;
He held up his hands as he read out the rules,
Making clear that this venue was no place for fools.
And I heard him exclaim, ere he started the game,
"HAPPY QUIZMAS TO ALL, AND I'M SO GLAD YOU CAME!"
~Trav
