‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the SEC
Not a Razorback was stirring, not even a “Woo Pig Sooie!”
The playbooks were arranged with the care of a florist
Keeping them safely away from that guy at Wake Forest

The quarterbacks were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of RPOs danced in their heads
And Coach Mason in his black vest, and I full of questions
Had just settled in for a series of film-study sessions

When out on The Plains, there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter
Away to the window, I flew like War Eagle
The TP at Toomer’s Corner looking ever so regal

The rattle of cowbells and the absence of snow
Gave the impression of game day in Starkville below
When what was the cause of so many unanswered prayers
But Big Al the elephant mascot and eight mammoth players

With his headset on, disposing of opponents with a flick
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick
He doesn’t love to win, but he sure hates to lose
And he yelled and screamed, but that’s just old news

“NOW CAM! NOW O.J.! NOW JALEN AND CALVIN!
ON MARLON! ON REUBEN! ON MINKAH AND JONATHAN!
TO THE TOP OF THE POLLS! WITH LIMITED PRESS ACCESS!
NOW TRUST, I SAY! TRUST! TRUST THE PROCESS!”

As sure as Coach Muschamp will always be Coach Boom
Alabama wins the battle in every five-star’s living room
So off to the College Football Playoff they flew
With a fistful of rings and St. Nick, too

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on Rocky Top
Coach Jones running out of bricks, wishing it would stop
As Coach Sumlin watched another signal caller get away
Down the sideline came St. Nick, the king of National Signing Day

He was dressed all in Nike, from his polo to his slacks
As he ordered up touchdowns scored by his defensive backs
A bundle of Florida QBs he had flung over his shoulder
He’s seen better passes thrown by his snapper and holder

His eyes how they glared, many a reporter they broke
Softened only at the podium by that bottle of Coke
Going back to Georgia, Coach Smart tried the same tactic
But losing to Vanderbilt proved to be quite anticlimactic

The remains of Kentucky he held tight in his teeth
As the Wildcats had no claws left to put back in their sheath
Fortunately for Coach Odom, he still has his pride
Mizzou had a tough enough season without playing the Tide

He was short and skinny, might blow over in a breeze
But you’ll never beat him three straight, just ask Coach Freeze
No joy in his craft, to smile might leave a bruise
With Coach Kiffin now gone, he has fewer assistants to abuse

He spoke not a word, but went straight on the attack
Making Leonard Fournette look like just another back
Collecting his umpteenth trophy, as the haters eat crow
And shrugging his shoulders, back to the White House he’ll go

He deferred to his agent, who needed nary a mention
The taxpayers are offering another contract extension
But I heard him exclaim, drawing the rest of the SEC’s ire
“ROLL TIDE ROLL, AND I’LL NEVER RETIRE!”

John Crist is the senior writer for Saturday Down South, a member of the FWAA and a voter for the Heisman Trophy. Send him an e-mail, like him on Facebook or follow him on Twitter.