Post by WigNosy on Dec 18, 2014 12:20:19 GMT -6
Every fan down in Boston liked the Finals a lot...
But the Wig, who lived far south of Boston, did NOT!
The Wig hated the Finals! The whole darn post-season!
Now, please don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason.
It could be his head wasn't screwed on just right.
It could be, perhaps, that his shoes were too tight.
But I think that the most likely reason of all,
May have been that his team finished sixteen playoff wins too small.
But, whatever the reason, his heart or the losses,
He stood there in the offseason, hating the league bosses,
Staring down from his office with a sour, Wiggy frown,
At the warm-lighted windows out in Dallas' town.
For he knew every fan down in Dallas out younder,
Was busy now, hanging a championship banner.
"And they're ordering their rings!" he snarled with a sneer,
"Tomorrow is draft day! It's practically here!"
Then he growled, with his Wig fingers drumming angrily,
"I MUST find some way to stop Celts-Mavericks Three!"
For in RFA, he knew, all the team owner kids,
Would wake bright and early. They'd all put in their bids!
And then! Oh, the cash! Oh, the cash!
Cash! Cash! Cash!
He just hated to spend all his CASH!
CASH! CASH! CASH!
Then GMS, young and old, would get into a line,
And they'd sign! And they'd sign! And they'd SIGN!
SIGN! SIGN! SIGN!
They would sign a great center, the best players would come East.
Which was something the Wig couldn't stand in the least!
And THEN They'd do something He liked least of all!
Every single free agent, the tall and the small,
Would stand close together, bloated contracts in hand.
They'd go out, hit the clubs. And they'd all make it rain!
They'd rain! And they'd rain! And they'd RAIN!
RAIN! RAIN! RAIN!
And the more the Wig thought of offseasons not training,
The more the Wig thought, "I must stop this whole thing!"
"Why, for thirty-nine years I've put up with it now!"
"I MUST stop this Celtics-Mavs Three from coming! But HOW?"
Then he got an idea! An awful idea!
THE WIG GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!
"I know just what to do!" The Wig laughed in his throat.
And made out a quick contract to max out his foes.
And he chuckled, and clucked, "What a great Wiggy trick!"
"With this dollar amount, their cap will be gone quick!"
"All I need is a two-guard..." The Wig looked around.
But, since two-guards are scarce, there was none to be found.
Did that stop the old Wig? No! The Wig simply said,
"If I can't buy a two-guard, I'll draft one instead!"
So he drew up a Max. Then he took out a pen,
Signed his name on the line and thought of a victim.
THEN He loaded some bags And some old empty sacks,
In his broken down car and he sent out that Max.
Then the Wig said, "Donyell!" And the car started down,
Toward Boston where Conroy lay asnooze in his town.
The Garden windows were dark. Quiet snow filled the air.
All the Celtics fans were dreaming sweet dreams without care.
When Wig came to call the first stop on his tour.
"This is stop number one," the old Wiggy Cat hissed,
And he knocked on the door, with a slight nervous twitch.
Then the door opened up and he made his sales pitch.
But the Wiggy was glib, said he'd make Marshall rich.
Roy got stuck only once, when talking sign-and-trade,
To let Marshall go, and Wig finished his raid,
Then he looked at his Centers who couldn't shoot it down low
"These Centers," he grinned, "are the first things to go!"
But his plan hit a hitch; it was most unpleasant,
Outbid on free agent offers meant he lost every present!
Piatkowski! And Miller! Robinson! Scott!
Cassell left! Anderson! Win on Rice? He did not!
He bagged just Stith and Smith. Then the Wig, feeling alone,
Sent off Dampier and Divac to good ol' Nick Malone!
He took back a draft pick. He moved Harrington East!
Wig hoped Al would one day turn out to be a beast!
He pounced on the youngsters as quick as a flash.
Why, that Wig even took the contract of Monster Mash!
Then he shipped off Kobe-stopper for a draft pick with glee.
"And NOW!" grinned the Wig, "I will wait for TC!"
And the Wig prepped his trainers, and he started to shove,
When he heard Kukoc left Boston it was a blessing from above.
He turned around fast, and he saw some more trades!
The Mavericks sent out Jon Barry and they got back Who?
The Wig, caught off guard by this turn of events,
Watched the Mavs move Sabonis for sixty-three cents.
He stared at trade, then the Wig thought, "Vegito, why,”
"Why break up your three-peat-ing chance? WHY?"
But, you know, that old Wig was so smart and so slick,
He got right back to work, and set his camp up quick!
"Big Ben, listen to me," the old Wig did explain,
"I didn't draft you for scoring, I relied on your brain,"
"I want you to grab every rebound you see."
"That's your role if you want us to reach victory."
And Big Ben bought right in. Then he drew up a plan,
And he got set with roles for each and every man.
So when training camp came, and the players showed up,
He'd feel comfortable all their ratings would shoot up!
Then the last thing he took was a log of their ratings!
To see how they'd evolve; he hoped they'd become great things.
On the walls he left just pictures of his championship rings.
And the one bit of advice that he left in the gym,
Was a note saying, "I'll trade you if you don't win."
Then he sent food to all the other teams' players' houses
Hoping they'd eat so much they wouldn't fit in their trousers.
It was quarter past dawn... Reporters, still knocked out,
All the press, still asnooze while he watched the offseason play out,
He watched teams with no owners! Rebuilders! The happy!
The hope! And the false hope! The despair! The crappy!
Three thousand miles back! Back home to Atlanta,
He rode with his haul of young players to execute his Plan A!
"Pooh pooh to the press!" he was Wiggishly humming.
"They're finding out now that no presser is coming!"
"They're just waking up! I know just what they'll do!"
"Their mouths will hang open a minute or two,
Then the reporters down the hall will all cry Boo hoo!"
"That's a noise," grinned the Wig, "That I simply MUST hear!"
So he paused. And the Wig put his hand to his ear.
And he did hear a sound rising over the snow.
It started in low. Then it started to grow.
But the sound wasn't sad! Why, this sound sounded merry!
It couldn't be so! But it WAS merry! VERY!
He peeked in the room! The Wig popped his eyes!
Then he shook! What he saw was a shocking surprise!
Each Atlanta reporter, the tall and the small,
Was writing! Without any presser at all!
He HADN'T stopped the reporters from coming! THEY CAME!
Somehow or other, they came just the same!
And the Wig, with his wig-feet ice-cold in the snow,
Stood puzzling and puzzling: "How could it be so?"
"It came with out warning! It came without me!"
"It came without clips from our media library!"
And he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore.
Then the Wig thought of something he hadn't before!
"Maybe reporters," he thought, "doesn't need the team's stuff."
"Maybe reporters... perhaps... write it all off the cuff!"
And what happened then? Well...in Atlanta they say,
That the Wig's small heart grew three sizes that day!
And the minute his heart didn't feel quite so tight,
He whizzed to the presser through the bright morning light,
And he sat down at the table! The internet was a whole new beast!
And he, HE HIMSELF! The Wig took questions about the East!
But the Wig, who lived far south of Boston, did NOT!
The Wig hated the Finals! The whole darn post-season!
Now, please don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason.
It could be his head wasn't screwed on just right.
It could be, perhaps, that his shoes were too tight.
But I think that the most likely reason of all,
May have been that his team finished sixteen playoff wins too small.
But, whatever the reason, his heart or the losses,
He stood there in the offseason, hating the league bosses,
Staring down from his office with a sour, Wiggy frown,
At the warm-lighted windows out in Dallas' town.
For he knew every fan down in Dallas out younder,
Was busy now, hanging a championship banner.
"And they're ordering their rings!" he snarled with a sneer,
"Tomorrow is draft day! It's practically here!"
Then he growled, with his Wig fingers drumming angrily,
"I MUST find some way to stop Celts-Mavericks Three!"
For in RFA, he knew, all the team owner kids,
Would wake bright and early. They'd all put in their bids!
And then! Oh, the cash! Oh, the cash!
Cash! Cash! Cash!
He just hated to spend all his CASH!
CASH! CASH! CASH!
Then GMS, young and old, would get into a line,
And they'd sign! And they'd sign! And they'd SIGN!
SIGN! SIGN! SIGN!
They would sign a great center, the best players would come East.
Which was something the Wig couldn't stand in the least!
And THEN They'd do something He liked least of all!
Every single free agent, the tall and the small,
Would stand close together, bloated contracts in hand.
They'd go out, hit the clubs. And they'd all make it rain!
They'd rain! And they'd rain! And they'd RAIN!
RAIN! RAIN! RAIN!
And the more the Wig thought of offseasons not training,
The more the Wig thought, "I must stop this whole thing!"
"Why, for thirty-nine years I've put up with it now!"
"I MUST stop this Celtics-Mavs Three from coming! But HOW?"
Then he got an idea! An awful idea!
THE WIG GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!
"I know just what to do!" The Wig laughed in his throat.
And made out a quick contract to max out his foes.
And he chuckled, and clucked, "What a great Wiggy trick!"
"With this dollar amount, their cap will be gone quick!"
"All I need is a two-guard..." The Wig looked around.
But, since two-guards are scarce, there was none to be found.
Did that stop the old Wig? No! The Wig simply said,
"If I can't buy a two-guard, I'll draft one instead!"
So he drew up a Max. Then he took out a pen,
Signed his name on the line and thought of a victim.
THEN He loaded some bags And some old empty sacks,
In his broken down car and he sent out that Max.
Then the Wig said, "Donyell!" And the car started down,
Toward Boston where Conroy lay asnooze in his town.
The Garden windows were dark. Quiet snow filled the air.
All the Celtics fans were dreaming sweet dreams without care.
When Wig came to call the first stop on his tour.
"This is stop number one," the old Wiggy Cat hissed,
And he knocked on the door, with a slight nervous twitch.
Then the door opened up and he made his sales pitch.
But the Wiggy was glib, said he'd make Marshall rich.
Roy got stuck only once, when talking sign-and-trade,
To let Marshall go, and Wig finished his raid,
Then he looked at his Centers who couldn't shoot it down low
"These Centers," he grinned, "are the first things to go!"
But his plan hit a hitch; it was most unpleasant,
Outbid on free agent offers meant he lost every present!
Piatkowski! And Miller! Robinson! Scott!
Cassell left! Anderson! Win on Rice? He did not!
He bagged just Stith and Smith. Then the Wig, feeling alone,
Sent off Dampier and Divac to good ol' Nick Malone!
He took back a draft pick. He moved Harrington East!
Wig hoped Al would one day turn out to be a beast!
He pounced on the youngsters as quick as a flash.
Why, that Wig even took the contract of Monster Mash!
Then he shipped off Kobe-stopper for a draft pick with glee.
"And NOW!" grinned the Wig, "I will wait for TC!"
And the Wig prepped his trainers, and he started to shove,
When he heard Kukoc left Boston it was a blessing from above.
He turned around fast, and he saw some more trades!
The Mavericks sent out Jon Barry and they got back Who?
The Wig, caught off guard by this turn of events,
Watched the Mavs move Sabonis for sixty-three cents.
He stared at trade, then the Wig thought, "Vegito, why,”
"Why break up your three-peat-ing chance? WHY?"
But, you know, that old Wig was so smart and so slick,
He got right back to work, and set his camp up quick!
"Big Ben, listen to me," the old Wig did explain,
"I didn't draft you for scoring, I relied on your brain,"
"I want you to grab every rebound you see."
"That's your role if you want us to reach victory."
And Big Ben bought right in. Then he drew up a plan,
And he got set with roles for each and every man.
So when training camp came, and the players showed up,
He'd feel comfortable all their ratings would shoot up!
Then the last thing he took was a log of their ratings!
To see how they'd evolve; he hoped they'd become great things.
On the walls he left just pictures of his championship rings.
And the one bit of advice that he left in the gym,
Was a note saying, "I'll trade you if you don't win."
Then he sent food to all the other teams' players' houses
Hoping they'd eat so much they wouldn't fit in their trousers.
It was quarter past dawn... Reporters, still knocked out,
All the press, still asnooze while he watched the offseason play out,
He watched teams with no owners! Rebuilders! The happy!
The hope! And the false hope! The despair! The crappy!
Three thousand miles back! Back home to Atlanta,
He rode with his haul of young players to execute his Plan A!
"Pooh pooh to the press!" he was Wiggishly humming.
"They're finding out now that no presser is coming!"
"They're just waking up! I know just what they'll do!"
"Their mouths will hang open a minute or two,
Then the reporters down the hall will all cry Boo hoo!"
"That's a noise," grinned the Wig, "That I simply MUST hear!"
So he paused. And the Wig put his hand to his ear.
And he did hear a sound rising over the snow.
It started in low. Then it started to grow.
But the sound wasn't sad! Why, this sound sounded merry!
It couldn't be so! But it WAS merry! VERY!
He peeked in the room! The Wig popped his eyes!
Then he shook! What he saw was a shocking surprise!
Each Atlanta reporter, the tall and the small,
Was writing! Without any presser at all!
He HADN'T stopped the reporters from coming! THEY CAME!
Somehow or other, they came just the same!
And the Wig, with his wig-feet ice-cold in the snow,
Stood puzzling and puzzling: "How could it be so?"
"It came with out warning! It came without me!"
"It came without clips from our media library!"
And he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore.
Then the Wig thought of something he hadn't before!
"Maybe reporters," he thought, "doesn't need the team's stuff."
"Maybe reporters... perhaps... write it all off the cuff!"
And what happened then? Well...in Atlanta they say,
That the Wig's small heart grew three sizes that day!
And the minute his heart didn't feel quite so tight,
He whizzed to the presser through the bright morning light,
And he sat down at the table! The internet was a whole new beast!
And he, HE HIMSELF! The Wig took questions about the East!
credit loco for photoshop