Twas the night before nationals, when all through the roster,
Not a wrestler was tweeting, not even a Carter;
The headgears were packed in the duffles with care,
In hopes that Aaron wouldn't again need a spare;
The fans were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of the podium danced in their heads;
With Cody and his stache, and Casey with his beard,
No other assistant coaches are nearly so feared;
When outside the hotel there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my room to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes on the street,
But a wrestling mat, and ten elite athletes;
With a commanding presence, so lively, if pale,
I knew in a moment it must be Coach Cael.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, Braeden! now, Aaron! Now, Beau, Tyler and Levi!
On, Mitchell on, Carter! on Bernie, Aaron and Greg!
To the top of the podium! And don’t you dare stall!
Go for the major, a tech or a fall!
So into the drills and away they flew,
With a cache of medals, and team trophies too;
And then, in a twinkling, I heard from the opponent’s chair,
That wrestling Penn State isn’t hardly fair;
As I drew my head, and heard quite a whinen,
I saw a Manning, two Brands and a Ryan;
But Cael couldn’t care less, that I could see,
And no one could see the Brands behind the trophy;
As I looked down upon these very different men,
I was reassured that Penn State would win again;
And back to bed again did I go,
With one final thought that I know you all know;
We are blessed to be witness to this dynasty,
And should be grateful for all that we get to see.
Not a wrestler was tweeting, not even a Carter;
The headgears were packed in the duffles with care,
In hopes that Aaron wouldn't again need a spare;
The fans were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of the podium danced in their heads;
With Cody and his stache, and Casey with his beard,
No other assistant coaches are nearly so feared;
When outside the hotel there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my room to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes on the street,
But a wrestling mat, and ten elite athletes;
With a commanding presence, so lively, if pale,
I knew in a moment it must be Coach Cael.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, Braeden! now, Aaron! Now, Beau, Tyler and Levi!
On, Mitchell on, Carter! on Bernie, Aaron and Greg!
To the top of the podium! And don’t you dare stall!
Go for the major, a tech or a fall!
So into the drills and away they flew,
With a cache of medals, and team trophies too;
And then, in a twinkling, I heard from the opponent’s chair,
That wrestling Penn State isn’t hardly fair;
As I drew my head, and heard quite a whinen,
I saw a Manning, two Brands and a Ryan;
But Cael couldn’t care less, that I could see,
And no one could see the Brands behind the trophy;
As I looked down upon these very different men,
I was reassured that Penn State would win again;
And back to bed again did I go,
With one final thought that I know you all know;
We are blessed to be witness to this dynasty,
And should be grateful for all that we get to see.
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