Prefatory note: Yep. I think I’ve officially lost it.—CLS

‘Twas the night before Christmas, in Mud Lick so still

Sheriff Roy Templeton locked up every grill

Tyrone’s on vacation, thank God—he’s dim as a drill.

The station was quiet, Just two drunks in a cell

And at his desk Ernesto Miranda manned the bell.

Stockings were stapled to evidence bins,

Desks piled with warrants and half-eaten tins

When out by the bullpen arose such a clatter

I sprang from the swivel, Roy yelled “What in the?”

He tore through the blinds like a QB dive

The spotlight hit reindeer—AFLAC logos alive

Not Dasher, Nor Dancer, Nor Donner, Nor Blitzen

These deer wore duck masks, bills bright white and glisten

St. Nick Saban vaulted down, voice low, deep, exact

The same gravel that sells you when hospital bills stack.

A crimson windbreaker, no fur just houndstooth trim

Elephant tusks stitched neat on the brim

He doled out the presents, no elves, just linebackers hauling

Signed jerseys and playbooks with Saint Saban calling

“Ernesto!” He snapped. “Read them their rights!”

“Sherriff Roy! Defense first, then offense. Lights!”

Those boys in the tank woke, rattled their bars

“Silence drunkards!” Bellowed Nick, “Or I’ll make sure you see stars!”

Then laying a finger to the side of his nose,

He sprang to his sleigh which read “AFLAC” as it rose

And I heard him exclaim as he tore through the pines

“Merry Christmas to all and keep your coverage aligned!”