'Twas the night before the Championship, when all through the gym,
Not a creature was stirring, and the lights were still dim.
The jerseys were hung on the lockers with great care,
In anticipation for the players to change into them there;

The fans were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of alley-oops danced in their heads.
And I, just a humble young fan with no fortune or fame,
Had just cleared my day to cherish the big game.

When out of the tunnel, there arose such a clatter,
I sprung to the stands to see what was the matter.
Away to an upperdeck section I flew,
And hunkered down low in my seat for a view.

The lights flickering on, one-by-one, for the show,
Gave the luster of game time on objects below.
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But the players and coaches all full of good cheer.

With two stately old coaches with a Final Four swagger,
That moment I knew that this final game mattered;
More rapid than eagles, the players they came,
They lined them all up and called each by name:

"On Kalin and on Danny, On Tyler and on Goran!
On Raymar, on Wayne, on Ty and on Draymond!
To the top of the world, to the top of the key,
Now pass away, dribble, and dunk one for me!"

So to the jump circle, the coursers they flew,
The zebras, the players, Coach Izzo and Coach Williams too;
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the floor,
Their sneakers a screeching and digging for more;

As all here before in the NBA they will fly,
When they meet in the lane and then mount to the sky,
So over the basket the athletes they flew,
With a 360-slam and a "Tomahawk" too!

And then with a wink to his captains so subtle,
The coaches sent their signals to gather and huddle.
I squinted to see and I harkened the sound,
When the coaches entered into their huddles with a bound.

Their eyes, how they twinkled when talking of plays,
Their words were as golden as morning's first rays.
Their droll little mouth betrayed a sly smile,
If not for the years, then as sure for the miles.

They spoke not a word, but for three hours they ran.
They worked "pressure zone," and they worked "man-to-man."
And all the while the coaches kept coaching,
From seats on the sideline, but never approaching.

"No practice tomorrow!" coach said with a grin.
"But the next season be ready to practice to WIN!"
Then astride from the court, the coach gave a cheer:
"Merry Christmas to all, and another Championship Next Year!"

Credit for the lyrics goes to Rick Farrow, Randy B. Young and Matthew Monroe.