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Message: [QUOTE="Cowtown, post: 2840380, member: 2350"] From TGG board :) 'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Hofstra Not a player was stirring, not even a Mark Cavka; The helmets were hung by the lockers with care, In hopes that Herm Edwards soon would be there; The O-Linemen were nestled all snug in their hospital beds, While visions of Reggie Bush danced in their heads; And Woody in his nightgown, and I in my cap, Had just settled down for an offseason nap, When out on the practice field there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the trainer?s table to see what was the matter. Away to the practice bubble I flew like a flash, Tore open my stitches and threw up my breakfast hash. The tackle dummy on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave the lustre of mid-day to fumbled footballs below, When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature cornerback, and eight Green reindeer, With a little old driver, so lively, but not stern, I knew in a moment it must be St. Herm. More rapid than eagles his analogies they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and said you play to win the game!; "Now, Martin! now, Vilma! now, Vinny and Hobson! On, Mawae! on Coleman! on, Coles and Robertson! To the top of the upright! to the top of the porto-potty stall! Now throw away! throw away! throw away all!" As dry as an offense in which no passes fly, When they meet with an obstacle, they yield and comply, So down to the bottom of the standings they flew, With the sleigh full of disappointments, and St Herman too. And then, in a fumbling, I heard on the TV The bitching and moaning of each little Jetsie. As I drew in my torn shoulder, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Herman came with a bound. He was dressed all in green, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with chicken soot; A bundle of plays he had flung on his back, But I knew they were all likely to end in a sack. His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry! Then I had a sinking feeling next season he might bury! His droll little mouth was drawn up as if to say, I just got a letter from the commissioner today; The stump of a wristwatch he held tight in his teeth, And it reminded me Dick Curl was as useful as a wreath; He had a broad face and a kinda fat head, That shook, when he wanted to pass, but ran a draw instead. He was jumpy and preachy, a right jolly old coach, And I cried when I saw him, my franchise he did poach; A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had a lot to dread; He spoke lots of words, and forgot about his work, He told stories about dog catchers and I thought?what a jerk, And laying his finger inside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the flagpole he rose; He grabbed Terry B and to his team gave a cheer, And he stared dumbfound like headlights on a deer. But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight, "Merry Christmas to all, and to the Jets season good-night." [/QUOTE]

Verification: What is a Syracuse fan's favorite color?