'Twas the night before the trading deadline, when all through the league
Not a Wolf was playing, not even D League;
The baggies were hung by the chillum with care,
In hopes that St. Beazy soon would be there;
The rookies were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of skittle-plums danced in their heads;
And Lambeer in his Snuggie, and I growing bald,
Had just settled down for a long season's nap,
When on the Target roof arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed thinking it more of Beazy's chatter.
Away to the concourse I flew in a dash,
Past the box seats to the lower bowl then looked up.
The Jumbotron was lit like new-fallen snow
Giving the lustre of Vegas to objects below,
When, what to my triangulated eyes should appear,
But a tiny NBA player white as a trick,
With eight arms flailing so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be KLove.
Porous D like AlJeff but no blocked shots,
He positioned and elbowed and took every board;
"Now, Clunker! now, Brick! now Prayer and You're Kidding!
On, Airball! on Rim Grazer! on, Carom and Stinking!
To the top of the backboard! to the top of the scoreboard!
They're all mine! all mine! all mine all!
Like the skinny legs that keep Brewer flying,
Before crashing into Shaq thereupon dying,
So up to the rafters atop the concourse he flew
With an arm full of rebounds & little Corey too.
Then, picking and rolling I saw with my eyes
Replays of highlights and 30-30 guys.
As I screwed on my head to zen meditate,
Down from the glass came Love to expedite.
He was dressed all in U.S.A.! from his shoes to his noggin,
And basketballs hung from his shorts like toboggans;
A bundle of boards he had flung on his back,
He looked like a Timberwolf without his pack.
His eyes -- how they crinkled! his dimples how Beach Boysian!
A nose like a Serbian, his cheeks half broken!
His little mouthguard was chewed on with care,
The beard of his chin next to cheeks so bare;
The stump of a hand he held tight in his arms,
It once was Rodman's, now a lucky charm;
A face so narrow atop a chubby belly,
That shook when he ran like something smelly.
Overweight and too short, an unlikely forward,
I laughed when I saw him, despite being a fan;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his wrist,
He didn't speak, but then blew me a kiss;
Footwork so smart he went straight to work,
And stuffed his stats before turning with a jerk,
Laying his finger to iPhone to tweet,
He gave a nod and released a full-court pass;
Then sprang to the three point line and gave a whistle,
A Ridnour pass received then shot like a pistol.
I heard him exclaim as his three pointer sank,
"Let's win some games, or trade my ass to L.A.!"
Doggerel because it's the only appropriate tribute for a team this bad.