'TWAS THE DAY OF THE DRAFT
'Twas the Day of the Draft, and all through the pool
The managers were stirring, even the fools;
The draft lists were hung, on the pin boards with care,
In hopes that at draft time, the best ones were there;
The managers were dressed in draft day threads,
With visions of 'All stars', dancing in their heads;
Greg in his kerchief, and Matt wearing a cap,
Had just settled in, when they accidentally napped.
With the first pick there arose such a clatter,
The poolies all raced to see what was the matter.
To the computers they flew like a flash,
They viewed every moment the draft day dash!
To hell with the moon & the new-fallen snow
What draft picks remained on their list below,
When, what to their wondering eyes should appear,
But a new magic idea, have no fear!
With a little wiggle waggle, so lively and quick,
They knew in a moment, their very next pick!
More rapid than eagles, the next pick it came,
The poolies were ready, and called the players name;
"Now, HERTL! now, HARDING! now, KUCHEROV and JOHANSEN!
On, GIORDANO! on MacARTHUR! on, PENNER and NIELSEN!
Rising the top of their page! They got ready to call!
SANTORELLI, FILPPULA, SMITH & HANZALL!
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When managers met an obstacle, they would cry,
So down the draft lists they steadily flew,
Quickly sidestepping Cheechoo, Ruutu and Tootoo.
And then, in a twinkling, the first round was done,
What prancing and pawing, boy it was fun!
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
My next picked attacked, I did a quick bound.
The pick was dressed in his gear, from his head to his skates
Without a doubt, he was my fate;
A bundle of goals, he had hung in his stats,
And he looked like a God send, when reviewing the facts.
My eyes -- how they twinkled! My dimples how merry!
My cheeks were like roses, my nose like a cherry!
My droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on my chin twitched with my "go";
The stump of a cigarette held tight in my teeth,
The smoke it encircled my head like a wreath;
My thin drawn face and emaciated belly,
My jowls, shook as I picked, like bowlful of jelly.
Poolies chubby and plump, all right jolly old elves,
Laughed at draft pick, in spite of theirselves;
In the wink of an eye, and a twist of my head,
I was confident that I had nothing to dread;
I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,
And filled up my draft lists; then turned with a jerk,
And laying a finger inside of my nose,
I gave a nod, and yelled "Down ye foes!"
I sprang to the coffee pot, and gave a whistle,
On my very next draft pick I might take a "Fergus Thistle".
But poolies heard me exclaim, as I dodged left & right,
HAPPY DRAFTING TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-FIGHT!
Making the assumption this puts me in the hunt for the alleged draft pick! 
