T'was the Night Before Track Season

Feb 26, 2017

Tomorrow starts our track season in Missouri. The most glorious day of the year and to celebrate I included my traditional poem, T'was the night before track season. Embedded in this poem are a number of articles and resources you might find useful or entertaining. Read and click as you go!

'Twas the night before track, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The stopwatches were hung by the locker with care,

In hopes that State champions would soon be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of district championships danced in their heads;

and I in my Colt pajamas and skull cap,

just settled down for the last winter's nap,

When out on the track there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to my car I flew like a flash,

Tore open the gate and almost pulled a hami as if I ran a 100meter dash.

The moon on the breast of the freshly groomed sand

Gave the luster of mid-day to objects near the grandstand,

When what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature gator and eight tiny distance runners came near,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than Usain Bolt his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Dasher! Now, Jumper! Now, Runner and Captain!

On, Comets, on Quipie Doll! On Lancer and Statesman!

To the top of the podium! To the top of the record board!

Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away and soar!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up to the roof-top the coursers they flew,

With the gator full of trophies, and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the pit

The prancing and the stopwatches each little tick.

As I drew in my head and was turning around,

Down the pit St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to Big River tennis shoes,

And his clothes were all tarnished with sand and dew;

A bundle of medals he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a freshman just begging to get on his track.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as white as last winter's snow;

The stump of a whistle he held tight in his teeth,

And steam from his mouth encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a broad face and a little round Banta belly,

That shook when he laughed like a bowlful of icy-hot jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old man,

And I laughed when I saw him I could barely stand;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon I knew I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled my weight room with cool training exercises like the jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the vault pit he rose;

He sprang to his gator, 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 out of sight,

"Happy track season to all, and to all a good-night

Ryan Banta :)