Hello: This is Swen Nater wishing all of you a very happy and meaningful holiday season. This poem is my gift for you. Hope you don't reciprocate by throwing tomatoes.

The Santa Ref
Swen Nater

Twas the night before Christmas and our team had a game,
With our cross-town opponent, so everyone came.
The basketball game was about to begin,
And my teammates and I were expecting to win.

We noticed the gym was just three people short,
But then all three officials stepped onto the court.
We players just froze and the band became mute,
When we noticed one ref in a red Santa Suit.

He was holding his belly and saying, “Ho, Ho.
Let’s do the jump ball and get on with the show.”
I saw his black boots, and his suit and his beard,
And I thought, ‘This is strange. This is totally weird.’
 
We got the jump ball and I worked to get free,
And they passed me the ball at the top of the key.
I faked to my left and went up for the shot,
But that Santa called, “Traveling,” when I knew I had not.

Next time down the court, I ran quick through the key,
He blew on his whistle and smiled right at me.
“Three seconds,” he said, through his beard that was gray,
And I stood there in awe and in utter dismay.

The next time on offense, when setting a screen,
The Santa Ref called something I’d never seen.
As I bumped my own teammate, he fell to the floor.
Santa called me for charging. But wait, there is more.

“Oh, Santa, err Ref,” I did plead with a cry.
You can’t call me for charging; I hit my own guy.”
“I can do more than that,” he said with a scowl,”
As he gave me a smirk and a technical foul.

My coach stood in protest and said, “Ref, you’re blind.
That’s the worst call I’ve seen. Are you out of your mind?”
But the Santa Ref said, “You may not think it’s fair,
But I hear no complaints from the coach over there.  
 
The rest of the game was no different at all,
My team got the brunt of most every call.
As the final horn sounded, I followed him out,
“You need some new glasses,” I said with a shout.

He lowered his beard and revealed his disguise,
He bent down and looked at me, straight in the eyes.
He gave me the truth, with his eyes all agleam,    
“My brother was coaching the opposite team.”

Then he walked toward his dressing room, saying, “Ho, Ho,”
I stood there in silence, just watching him go.
Compelled to exclaim, I said with a wail,
“Be expecting a Christmas card, written in Braille.”