How To Escape From A Roundabout

Two entities have crept westward across the land in the past few years and made their way into northwestern Wisconsin and northeastern Minnesota.

The first is called a “Kwik Trip.”  They are gas-station-mini-grocery-store-combos that are multiplying faster than rabbits in the Duluth/Superior area.  And they make the best chicken alfraid-o (pronounced “alfredo”) pizza in the whole wide world!  How do I know that? I took a survey of all the 13 year old teenage grandsons that I know…and Noah gave it a resounding two thumbs up!

The second is called a “Roundabout.”  There are at this time only two in our area (that I know of).  They are the cruelest of other-worldly circular traffic control inventions ever foisted upon the American public.

Roundabouts were originally designed by the English during the Dark Ages (that era before cable TV) to slow the Viking hordes from spreading lutefisk throughout Europe.  They worked wonderfully – when that fierce Norwegian warrior Erik the Red (cousin of Barney the Purple) attempted to lead his army to London, upon entering the roundabout he simply kept going round and round and round until he was finally heard to say, “Uffda Sven!  How do we get out of here!  Let’s snack on some of that lutefisk and then skeedaddle back to Norway!” 

For those unfamiliar with these marvels of traffic engineering, here is some information from “Roundabout USA” (kind of sounds like an amusement park, doesn’t it?): “A modern roundabout has three major characteristics compared to its predecessors -- traffic circles and rotaries. First, the roundabout gives vehicles in the circular travel way the right-of-way. This change on a national basis in England in 1963 marked the start of the modern roundabout era. Second, roundabouts are small, generally from 70 to 160 feet in diameter compared to 300 to 400 feet and more for traffic circles and rotaries.”

Did you catch that?  The predecessors to the roundabout were “traffic circles” and “rotaries.” Traffic circles faded in use when crop circles became the favorite form of UFO traffic control and rotaries eventually merged into a loosely knit consortium of civic organizations. 

This is an early cave drawing of a roundabout found near London:

This is a blueprint of a modern day Roundabout found in an engineer’s office:

And this is an aerial view of the Roundabout at the other end of the Bong Bridge - that's me in the blue car:

And don’t feel bad if, when you entered a roundabout for the very first time, panic and a sense of dread set in.  They are beyond confusing!  Consider the following phraseology from several different publications describing this wonder of traffic control:

“The rotary began in the U.S. as a simple circle with no governing principles, but evolved into new designs based on weaving theory.” 

Weaving theory?  You begin to think about making baskets when you go in there?

And this, “If theories can correctly predict the critical gap, correctly predict how many such gaps are available, and correctly predict move-up time for vehicles in the queue, then theoretically we can sum individual driver behavior to predict total capacity, queuing, and delay. It is this apparent simplicity that gives gap theory its broad appeal.” 

The queue? Simplicity?  Broad appeal?  I hope they get a queue, because I predict that when the gap theory combines with the weave theory there is going to be a pile of cars in the middle of Roundabout Island the size of the Empire State Building!

And here is some more unintelligible rambling on the subject of Roundaboutology, “In the last step of gap theory, analysts sum predictions of individual driver behavior to predict aggregate intersection performance during the analysis period. This is mathematically simple but statistically dangerous, because aggregating results of previous estimates will compound any estimation errors.”

I don’t usually scream at my computer, BUT WHAT DOES THAT MEAN???

And finally this: “First, a roundabout is geometry. Unlike a signal, roundabout performance is entirely controlled by geometry and markings. To evaluate the effect of geometric design elements, a gap theorist must reliably predict a driver’s reaction to all relevant geometric parameters…” 

What?  My reaction to relevant geometric parameters?  How should I know? I flunked geometry!

And get a load of this from “Roundabout USA” (Hee-Haw!), “…roundabouts have a raised entry "splitter" island that slows down or constrains speed just before entry, duplicating in a way the curvature the driver will experience within the roundabout itself.” 

The curvature the driver will experience within the roundabout?  We’ll get bent out of shape when we go in there?  Am I reading that right?

Maybe on “Splitter Island” they should add a McDonalds or a Bass Pro Shop to give motorists who cannot escape something to do.

Perhaps the roundabout was the inspiration behind the weird machine in Carl Sagan’s book/movie “Contact” that sent Jodi Foster to see her dearly departed dad in the Chevy Vega System via a worm hole.  Why do I say that?  Because one person from Superior, Wisconsin that was trapped for 93 minutes in a roundabout on the eastern end of the Bong Bridge stated, “Once I got in there I began going faster and faster until I was bent out of shape by the weaving geometry of the gap theory.  And it seemed like time itself was slowing down!  And then, as I neared the speed of light on Splitter Island, I began to see my long dead relatives!  And even some of my short dead relatives!”

I think the Department of Roundabouts should give out trophies to motorists who actually navigate successfully through the weaving splitters of gaps and queues and geometry, oh my!

To conclude my thesis on “Escaping from a Roundabout via a Parallel Universe,” this actually happened to me when I approached the Bong Bridge Circle of Death for the first time.  As I entered the new roundabout from the west on Belknap Street, the sign indicated that I should enter the rotisserie and go counter clockwise.  (What makes this Roundabout even more confusing is that it incorporates a “wheel within a wheel” technology – there are TWO circular lanes orbiting Splitter Island!)  But one of the arrows engraved into the concrete in one of the lanes approaching this DOT amusement park strongly suggested that I should enter this scarey-go-round and go LEFT to get to Duluth. (I think I have that right…it was all so confusing.)

Fortunately my sixth sense indicated to me that if I did that, I would begin seeing dead people…one of them being Dan Vander Ark.

What did I do?  I could see Duluth in the distance to my left so I put my two wheel drive S-10 into four wheel drive (I double clutched), put the pedal to the metal, flipped on the nitrous oxide switch for an extra surge of power (actually I just turned up the radio), cut right through the McDonald’s drive-through on Splitter Island, grabbed a double cheeseburger, and plowed my way onto the Bong.

Or something like that.

I leave you with this final thought: “The history of research on roundabouts shows that ‘what is going on’ is not obvious.” (Mike Brown, Retired Chief of Geometrics, London)

I’ll say :>)

Dan Vander Ark

Copyright 2015

All rights reserved

Doctor, I Think I’m Dying!

My wife came down with a bad cold & cough on Memorial Day night and I came down with the same cold & cough the following Saturday day.  She started feeling better as I started feeling rottener, so it was obvious that she had mysteriously transported her germs over to me without my permission.

Even though I asked her to stay home from work and/or go to the doctor when she was sick, she refused.  She is tougher than nails.  Tougher than John Wayne, Clint Eastwood and Genghis Kahn rolled into one (but a LOT prettier!) I am surprised germs even dare to go near her.

Me, on the other hand, am a wimp.  Without any prodding from my wife, I stayed home two days.

I emailed my boss that I wouldn’t be in on Tuesday because I hadn’t gotten done what he wanted me to do and now I am dying and could he push off my project for maybe say a week or so?  And I emailed him early on Wednesday to let him know that I was still dying and did that project get done?  If not then I will be dying on Thursday also.  And possibly Friday.  Although by the weekend I should be undead.

I told my wife that I thought I was dying and that I should go to the doctor as soon as possible. 

Her reply? “It’s just a bad cold; you don’t go to the doctor for a cold.”

The local clinic opened at 8:00 on Wednesday and I was there at 7:59:59 banging on the door.

“Let me in!  I am dying!”

When the student nurse came to get me after 300 seconds of waiting in agony, we did several laps around the inside of the facility as she was new and was unfamiliar with the floor plan and didn’t know if my room was on Hallway C or D.    On the tenth lap the track announcer said we were in the lead by “a lot” and when the nurse’s station finally waved the checkered flag they then gave us directions to room 222.

(And has anyone ever unraveled the code behind those mysterious colored room flags?  You know – the red, yellow, black, blue, etc. little plastic flags that the nurse or doctor flips out or in.   I know that red and black indicate a hurricane warning, but I am not sure about the others.)

The student nurse tried to take my blood pressure but she was confused by the velcro on the BP cuff and had the thing upside down.  She finally figured it out.  Perhaps she struggled in Velcro 101 in Nursing School.  But she was very nice.

“Your BP is fine,” she said, “It’s 100 MPH over 33 1/3 RPM.” 

As she went out the door I noticed she was dropping bread crumbs so she could find her way back.

Then the doctor came in.

“Doctor,” said I, “I think I am dyeing!” 

“Are you sure?” she said, “what color were you before?”

“Sorry Doc, I meant to type “I am DYING!! As in a Christian Ponder pass attempt!”  She immediately knew what I meant and I could see the look of concern on her face by the depth of her furrowed brow which was brownish in color with just a hint of auburn.

“Why do you think you are dying?” she asked.

I have a raging fever, can you check my temp?” 

She did…she said it was a normal 98.6.

“That must be Celsius!” I said. “Can you check that again???”

This is just a little deviation from the main story, but who determined 98.6 degrees is “normal” anyway?  Maybe the rock band “Keith” paid off the AMA back in ’67 so their song “98.6” would make sense:

Hey, 98.6, it's good to have you back again
Oh, hey, 98.6, her lovin' is the medicine
That saved me, oh, I love my baby

That sounds a lot better than:

Hey, 100.0, it’s good to have you back again

Oh, hey, 100.0, her lovin’ is the medicine

That saved me, oh, I love my baby

Back to the main story and me.

The doctor was a Physician’s Assistant and not a real doctor so maybe that explains why my temp was normal.  A “PA” is an abbreviation for the Latin “almostus a doctorus.”  A PA can do everything a real doctor can do except what is defined by the AMA as “icky stuff.”  The American Motorcycle Association defines “icky stuff” as “anything on the outside of you that should be on the inside, and anything on the inside of you that should be on the outside.

After my DIS-appointment (the doctor refused to believe that I was dying) I went to that place that’s on the corner of Healthy and Happy which is directly across the street from their nemesis CVS [Comma Value Separated] Pharmacy. I purchased 17 large bottles of Dayquil, 24 bottles of Nyquil, and a couple bottles each of MorningQuil and EveningQuil.  And cough drops…lots and lots and lots of cough drops.  I purchased a case of sugar free what are technically called “Cough Suppressants/Oral Anesthetics.”  I put several in my mouth and duct taped a bag to each arm as I figured they would work like those nicotine patches.

I told my coworkers to stay away from my cube because “germs as big as blackbirds are flying around down here in I25.” (Is it just me or does I25 sound like a prison cell number?)  

And I for one am so glad that our company has Professional Series "AngelSoft"  facial tissue.  At least I didn't have to deal with amateur series facial tissue during my long illness.

I am on the mend now.  My temp is pretty much back to normal from my raging fever.  I will check with my boss to see if my near-death experience was justification for not doing what it was I was supposed to be doing when I wasn’t doing it.

The end.

Dan Vander Ark

Copyright 2015

All rights reserved

How To Turn Your Grandkiddies Into Robots (The Birth of Pine Cone)

This little step-by-step instructional should help you on your quest to turn your little Krumbcrushers (or Anklebiters) into an amazing robot that will do practically……….nothing!  But they look cooler than cool!

 

1. First – find grandkids that are preferably between the ages of 3-7; if they are younger than 3 they are too young to grasp the idea of a “robot” and if they are older than 7 they want their robot to be able to fly into space and defeat Megatron.

2. Find a box that isn’t too big for the littlest one or too small for the oldest.  A refrigerator box is probably a smidgen too big and a shoe box is a smidgen too small.

3. Go to your favorite dollar store and just buy a bunch of cool stuff – you know, tape, tin foil (lots and lots of tinfoil), copper scrubber things for the kitchen, pipe cleaners, really ginormous glasses, tape, kiddy stickers, more tape, markers, maybe a plastic bucket helmet in sizes large and small, more tape, etc.  We found that in robot construction you need lots and lots of both duct tape and tinfoil.  But just one note of caution: Justin Bieber style duct tape is NOT PERMISSABLE ON ROBOTS! 

4.  Go to Menards and buy 3 inch plastic dryer vent tubing stuff and cut it in half so that each arm can be approximately 4 feet long.  Normal robot arms, according to the NRS (National Robotic Standards) are 1.7 meters but who knows how long that is – we’re in America!

5. Figure out where the arms and head will protrude from the robot and make some careful incisions into the robotic cardboard.  Have a towel handy so that you don’t get human blood onto the robot.  Mixing human and robotic DNA might not be a good idea (have you ever seen that movie, “The Fly?”)

6. Although this is your call, probably cover the robotic torso with something like flooring paper or butcher paper – something that the Grandkiddies can draw on.

7. Let the Krumbcrushers name their robot – although you may want to have a list of suggested names handy that they can pick from.  Our grandkids named their robot………..………………”Pine Cone.”   I had the greatest look of disappointment on my face as I just mumbled, “Pine Cone??????”  I was expecting something like “Planet Crusher” or “Meteor Zapper” or “Adrian Pederson the Packer Crusher.”  But “Pine Cone”???????  I guess that’s what happens when the two Grandkiddies involved in this project are girls.  I should have assigned the task of naming the robot to my grandson.

8. Decorate it, draw stuff on it, and just let the Anklebiters do whatever they want to their robot.  We even had a string of Christmas tree lights for the belt (if by chance you do make a robot that flies into space, then make sure the extension cord is long enough).

9. Attach a pair of gloves to the robot dryer duct arms.  As seen on the attached photo, adult supervisors are allowed to try them out first (but they should be careful with them as robotic arms are quite expensive).

10. Set the robot upright and then figure out if the Grandkiddies are going to need to stand on anything inside the robot so that their head actually sticks out and can be seen by the general public.

11. Very gingerly place a grandkiddy inside the robot and attach the arms and the helmet and plug in the belt.

12. WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!  Once you have placed your little human inside the robot, NEVER turn your back on it because the robot can tip over!  As we were preparing to take photographic evidence of PINE CONE and with the oldest granddaughter inside the robot, THE ROBOT FELL OVER BACKWARDS!!!  As I replay the horrific scene in my mind the whole thing seemed to happen in slow motion, but before the adult supervisors could react in fast motion (or even normal speed motion), Kabammmm – Pine Cone was on the ground!  And the granddaughter was crying and scared!  She sensed it starting to go backwards and flailed her 4 foot long dryer duct arms wildly, but it didn’t help!  She hit the really hard floor (carpeting over concrete) and the only thing that saved her was her ice cream bucket helmet! 

13. Before placing a little human inside the robot, print out a copy of the NFL’s “What To Do If A Player Has A Concussion” and read it thoroughly.  Because we had done that we were able to react very swiftly (once the robot was in the prone position). And we followed the NFL’s guidelines verbatim: First we hollered, “OH MY GOSH!!!! ARE YOU ALL RIGHT????” And then we directed, “QUICK PUT YOUR HEAD IN THIS BUCKET OF ICE!!!”  It turned out she was fine and hadn’t hurt the floor at all.  Because of our quick thinking, Little Natalie totally recovered and again got back into the robot.

14. Have a supervisor (someone 18 or older and strong enough to stop falling robots) hide behind the robot and grasp it firmly.

15. Oh, one other thing…do not have the wood stove in the basement family room going at the same time so that its like 123 degrees while you are trying to build your robot.  During the robot construction period it tends to make adults irritable.

16. And finally……………..have fun!

Twenty Little First Graders

When I picked up my wife from work on Friday, December 14th, I asked her to text our daughter with a message that read something like, “Give the grandkids an extra special hug from us tonight.”

It had been about 8 hours since a monster had entered Sandy Hook Elementary School and killed twenty first-graders and 6 staff members.  Our granddaughter is the same age as those 20 innocent little kids.  

Earlier in the day I had clicked on a news website to see what was going on in the world. When I read the horrific headline I just dropped my head, closed my eyes and began to silently pray.  With just an awful feeling I called my wife and told her what had transpired in Connecticut. 

The next day one radio announcer remarked, “You know it’s a bad day when you are stopped at the traffic light and the people in the cars around you are crying.” A “bad day” doesn’t even begin to describe what took place.

Words just get in the way when trying to express the enormity of the grief that the parents, grandparents, family members and even the entire community of Newtown must be going through.

The shooter, Adam Lanza, fired between 50 and 100 rounds.  Most of the shooting took place in two first grade classrooms – 14 were killed in one room and 6 in the other.  Eight little boys and 12 little girls.  The six adults that were killed were all woman…and all were heroes.

In the mode of US Marines, several of the adults ran toward the sound of gunfire.

Denis Hamill wrote this in the New York Daily News, “The 2012 Daily News Person of the Year Award belongs to all those who put their lives on the line at Sandy Hook Elementary School trying to save the lives of children…”

In that same article he goes on to say, “Jump for joy for a Sandy Hook Elementary janitor named Rick Thorne who did a Paul Revere run through the hallways after spotting the gunman, shouting, ‘A gunman is coming! A gunman is coming!’ He checked to make sure the classroom doors were locked.”

Victoria Soto, a 27 year old first grade teacher, put herself between the gunmen and her terrified first graders.

The Apostle John wrote, “Greater love hath no First Grade Teacher than this, that she lay down her life for her students.” (John 15:13)

One first grader escaped by pretending to be dead.  When she finally ran and reached her mother she said, "Mommy, I'm okay, but all my friends are dead."

It wasn’t long before AM talk radio and the cable new shows were filled with talking heads pointing the finger of blame.

Was the rampage the result of loopholes in the existing gun control laws?  Is it the violent first person shooter games that we should blame?  Is it the need for more precise mental health evaluations and more dollars to be spent in that area?  Is it bad parenting?  Is it the result of Hollywood’s glorification of violence and gore and blood?

There is a great cry throughout our country for something (anything) to be done.  On the left there is a call for firmer gun control laws and even a demand for guns to be confiscated; on the right there is a call to arm the teachers.

The purpose of this brief article is not to opine on what should or should not be done, but to hopefully (and in the smallest of ways) provide some spiritual comfort. 

First, we live in a broken world where sin is rampant.  Unfortunately there may be more Adam Lanza rampages in the years to come.  Albeit they were not school shootings, in Chicago this past year 500 people have been murdered. That’s almost 20 Sandy Hooks per year!  When Jesus was born, King Herod, not wanting any competition for his throne, cruelly massacred all of the boys in the region of Nazareth 2 years old and younger.  Perhaps dozens of parents had their hearts ripped apart that day.  The Apostle Paul wrote, “But realize this, that in the last days difficult times will come. For men will be…brutal, haters of good…” (II Timothy 3:1-3). 

Second, as tragic as this event is, the news media will quickly move on to other current events and will, for the most part, forget about Sandy Hook.  But God doesn’t forget.  The prophet Isaiah wrote, “Yet Jerusalem says, “The LORD has deserted us; the Lord has forgotten us.’’ “Never! Can a mother forget her nursing child?  Can she feel no love for the child she has borne?  But even if that were possible, I would not forget you!  See, I have written your name on the palms of my hands.” (49:14-16)   

Thirdly, unless we have lost a child, it is hard for us to fathom the pain of the parents and grandparents at the loss of their little ones.  How can you even open the door to their bedroom without tears streaming down your face?  How can you face Christmas without the joy-filled faces of those little first-graders?  But there is a God Who does ache and feel and love.  Revelation 21:4 reminds us, “And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.”  The proof that our God is a God of love is found in the fact that He doesn't delegate the job of wiping away the tears of sorrow to angels...He does it Himself!  The lyrics from the song “For Those Tears I Died” remind us, “I felt every teardrop when in darkness you cried, and I strove to remind you that for those tears I died.”  The Heavenly Father endured the brutal torture and death of His only Son; and because of that He has a tremendous compassion for the community of Newtown.   

Fourthly, find a way to show kindness and find a way to serve.  Your gentle action may make a world of difference in someone’s life.  And the world needs an army of empathetic servants. 

And finally, pray for Newtown and Sandy Hook Elementary.  Often relegated to end of the line because of its seeming unimportance and powerlessness, prayer can make the difference in someone’s life!  There is an unfathomable power available through tears that are poured out at the Throne of Grace! Through prayer we can connect individuals and communities to a God Who cares.  In the coming weeks and months remember to lift them up in your prayers.

Man Versus Plumbing (A Leak of Their Own)

After much procrastination, last year I finally decided to remodel the downstairs bathroom.  It had been 15 years since we had originally installed a second bath and had sort of done it on the cheap so it was in need of more than just a little TLC.  I sort of like remodeling and am halfway good at it, but to be honest with you, plumbing is my downfall. 
 

So I penciled in Wednesday as the prime plumbing day during remodel week (remodel week actually turned into remodel 26 weeks). 

I asked a bunch of friends to fast and pray for me for that day.

 
I bought all of the PEX pipe (I’ll explain that in a minute) and all the little PEX fittings and took out a loan and rented the PEX crimping tool. 

I knew exactly where I wanted to tie the new PEX line into the old cast iron line – all I had to do was remove two innocent looking PVC fittings I had installed fifteen years earlier.  Shouldn’t be much of a problem at all.

I turned off the water and drained the lines.  I then very gingerly placed the wrench on the PVC fitting and proceeded with the utmost care and gentlest of force to begin to turn the fitting.  

 

Suddenly (and without any warning) I heard a sickening “snap.”

My knees buckled and my face turned pale as I beheld half of the fitting in the wrench and the threaded part still in the old cast iron pipe.

I then did what any self respecting man’s man would do…

 
I curled up into the fetal position and called my plumber.

BILL!!!!!   ITS DAN!!!!  HELP!!!!!

Miraculously, Bill the plumber was there within an hour.  (I know this is so incredible to believe but its TRUE!)

He then paused and looked at me and said, “Are you crying?”

I immediately tried to turn away. “No I am not crying.”

Again, he sternly looked at me and asked more forcefully, “Are you crying?”

“No!” I insisted, “I am not crying!”

He got right in my space and hollered in drill sergeant fashion, “There’s no crying in Plumbing!” 

It was then that I remembered that classic Tom Hanks movie, “A Leak of Their Own.”   

With a little torch Bill removed the broken fitting in a jiffy.  That little piece of now-melted-plastic cost me $120.00. 

He then gave me a “Knute Rockne Win-One-for-the-Plumber” PEX pep talk. I pulled myself together, wiped away the tears and began to feel a whole lot better.

My aversion (and horror) to plumbing began several years earlier when we remodeled our kitchen.  At one point I had to replace just a teeny tiny fitting on an old cast iron water pipe.  The full story is out here somewhere on this blog.

Suffice it to say that by that evening I had one broken water line and gallons of brown icky water shooting up to the kitchen ceiling and flowing back down into the basement.

So ever since then, when someone asks me, “Hey are you good at Plumbing?” I begin to twitch and stammer and I walk away mumbling, “Plumbing…me no good at it….shooting water….lots of pain…Plumbing…me no good at it...shooting water…lots of pain.”

But PEX is cool stuff – its like it was made with me in mind!   It’s a type of very bendable plastic piping that doesn’t require the use of any soldering or torches or glue or atomic explosions or shooting water or crying. 

PEX is an acronym for Polyunsaturated Esoteric Xylophones – I think I have that right anyway.

The piping itself isn’t too expensive – you can buy it in giant rolls.  And it involves crimping little crimp rings onto the end of the pipe once you put the fitting in. 

But because its so easy for the do-it-yourselfer to use and the material isn’t that pricey, plumbers have conspired together to sell or rent the crimping tool at exorbitant prices!  

This actual conversation was overheard at a recent plumber’s convention:

“Hey Fred our plumbing business has fallen off dramatically since the advent of PEX so lets buy up all the crimping tools in the whole world and rent them for $500.00 per hour!” 

“Hey Norm, that’s a great idea!”

(You can use your wife’s 1980’s Daryl-Hannah-Splash hair crimper but I’ve found that you can only use it once because the sledge hammer that's used to "assist" renders the hair crimper like totally wasted.)

Anyway, I bought a 1000 foot roll of the stuff, 600 crimp rings, 413 brass T joints, 289 straight couplers, 127 shut off valves and a bunch of other stuff.

The actual plumbing run was only about 25 feet, but I wanted to be prepared for any event that anyone could possibly even conjure up in their wildest nightmare scenarios. 

I tied the PEX into the existing line that was fixed by plumber Bill, and then at every 5 foot interval, I put in a shutoff valve. I wasn’t taking any chances!  My basement looks like the boiler room on the Titanic.     

Anyway, the basic remodel job was done in about 6 months.  During that time (and because it took so long to turn back on all of those shut off valves) we used this for our temporary facilities :>)

 
“May your crimps never leak and may your PEX never break” (Confucius, 347 BC)

 

 

 

Twas The Night Before the Big Border Battle

(Author’s Note: We are probably gonna get slaughtered but my football psychotherapist says that writing out my feelings helps me to deal with the pain of being a lifelong Viking fan J)

Twas the night before the Border Battle, when all through the land

The Packerz were trembling and were fearful to stand
Their stockings were hung from their lockers with care
In hopes they’d be stuffed with some of Clay Matthews hair

The Cheeseheads were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of Jared Allen frightened their heads
With McCarthy in his kerchief and Rodgers in his cap
They were just getting ready for yet another sack

When out on the field there arose such a clatter

The fans outloud wondered “Now WHAT is the matter?!?”
Away to the TV they flew like a flash
Again and again their teeth they did gnash

The lights from Lambeau on the grid-iron below

Gave that green team the look of Elmo
When what to their watering eyes there appeared,
A quarterback named Rodgers…without his cool beard!

With his tiny little linemen who are not quite so quick

He knew in a moment he’d be feelin’ right sick
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came
(That line’s from the original poem -- I have no clue what it means but it just sounds so cool!)
And he whistled and shouted and screamed out some names

Hey Jordy! Hey Woodsen! Hey Prancer and Vixen!

The Vikings are coming!  Just look at them blitzing!
To the top of the huddle, to the top of the wall!
I was gonna do a Lambeau Leap, but Kevin Williams has my football!

Their playbook before the wild hurricane flies

They met with an obstacle of ginormous size!
So like a big smurf AJ Hawk  turned to blue
While their book full of plays seemed just like cuckoo!

And then in a twinkling I heard this big POOF!

Mason Crosby’s big kick had gone up on the roof!
As I looked at the band and was turning around
Their kicker was crying, he just sat their spellbound!

The Pack dressed in fur from their head to their foot

Even their stockings had heating input
While on the sidelines old Stone Face was stalwart
You see, Bud Grant wore only a short sleeve T-shirt

Their cheerleaders dressed in what looked like so scary

Their cheeks were like roses, yet their noses so hairy!
Their troll little mouths all drawn up like bows
Their faces had suffered what looked like deathblows!

While McCarthy was gritting his pearly white teeth

And smoke out his ears circled his head like a wreath
He had a grim face, his once vaunted army
Now shook like a leaf or a bowl full of jelly!

All chubby and plump their players like elves

And I laughed when I saw them, I saw all themselves
(Not much rhymes with elves, if you can think of something better, well hey, then write your own poem J)
With a wondering eye and a thought in my head
I suddenly realized I had nothing to dread!

Rodgers spoke not a word but went straight to his work
He passed but he fell, then he turned with a jerk
He suddenly realized his team was all frozen
I guess we can’t handle this Viking bulldozin'!

So He began to crochet, told his team to eat bagels

As he pondered the Ponder, “Wow their QB has muscles!”
But I heard ARodg exclaim as he pulled off his earrings,
“What a miserable day, I hate playing the Vikings!”

.........................................................NOT

Copyright 2012 Dan Vander Ark, the NFL, Elmo, Prancer and Vixen, the Smurfs, ARodg's non-existent beard and Clay Matthews' hair 

All rights reserved blah blah blah J

 

 

The Original “Night Before Christmas”

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

 

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

 

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,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
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, DONDER and BLITZEN!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.

 

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
 

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

 

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly. 

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

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, ere he drove out of sight,
"HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!"
(And Jesus is the Reason for the Season!)