Twas the night before Christmas when all through the South, not a disc golfer was stirring not even Playground or Emerald Coast .
Their bags were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
With MOBZ and MADGA all snug in their beds, while visions of Smackdowns danced in their heads, and Playground in F-Dub and Emerald Coast in P'cola, had just settled in for the long winters snap.
When out on 18 there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the trees to see what was the matter, Away to the fairway I flew like a flash, jumped up on 17’s teebox and threw down my stash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow, gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below. When what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer
With a little old driver so lively and quick, he reached back and threw with a snap that was so sick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. As I watched him I saw him make only one throw, this must mean that he drove for dough!
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, and he whistled and shouted and called them by name,
“Now, DASHER! Now, DANCER! Now, PRANCER and VIXEN! On, COMET on CUPID! On , DONNER AND BLITZEN! To the top of the porch, to the of the wall, Now dash away, dash away, dash away all!”
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
Merry Christmas to all discgolfers and to all a good night!