Twas the night before Summer Nationals, when all through the venue
Not a fencer was stirring, not even a referee.
The reels were hung by the strips with care,
In hopes that 6500 fencers soon would be there.
The referees were nestled all snug in their hotel beds,
While visions of yelling coaches and post-day drinking at Hooters danced in their heads.
And Christine Strong Simmons in her ‘blue jacket, and Kurt in his suit,
Had just settled themselves in for a long 8 day spell…
When out on the strip there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the hotel window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shades and threw up the sash.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature Derek Cotton, and eight tiny fencers all clad in metallic.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Miss Richards. (Or Carla Mae as we know her so dear) .
More rapid than eagles her coursers they came,
And she whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
“Now Homer! now, Williams! now, Igoe and Etropolski!
On, Morehouse! On, Zuck! on, on Buckley and Fischl!
To the strip! numbers 4,5 and 6, 25,45, 54!
Now fence away! fence away! fence away all!”.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on my strip
The prancing and pawing of each little black shoe.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the strip, Atila Tas came with a bound.
He was dressed all blue, from his head to his foot,.
A bundle of cards he had flung in his jacket,
And his referee friends all fussed with their ties,
As he sprang to his strip, to Francisco he gave a whistle,
And then I heard him exclaim,
“Merry Summer Nationals to all, and to all a good-Summer Nationals!”
GOOD LUCK EVERYONE! (I will keep my day job!) -Tim