T’was the night of the ESPYs and the celebs were at the show. The hosts were Chris Berman, Dan Patrick and Mike Lupico.
The athletes were happy, with their trophies and more dough. They knew there was a reason that they skipped college and went pro.
All of Shawn Kemp’s kids were at home snug in their beds, as visions of child support danced in their heads.
The eggnog and sugar-plums were all quite tasty, so Rich Garces and Antoine Walker made sure not to be hasty.
Nomar and Duquette hung the stockings with care in Boston’s Fenway. But Steinbrenner’s dreidels were nicer, so with the Yankees Moose would soon play.
When all through the ESPYs there arose such a clatter. The awards were a success, and we thought there was nothing the matter.
But out of the dressing rooms and bursting into the hall, Anna Kournikova, Mia Hamm and Jason Sehorn were in a brawl.
“You’re skanky, you can’t play, you’re quite a little pansy,” Hamm yelled at the pretty-boy Giant who lucked out with Angie.
“You can’t win — wait a sec, you’re hot, get over here,” said Sehorn to Anna, who was getting kicked by Hamm in the rear.
But out from the men’s room stormed a heroic young man, armed and in uniform with a dark golden tan.
“You’re not Santa,” said the insightful Anna with a smile. “That’s right, honey, but you can sit on my lap and chill for a while.”
The security guard looked familiar to all who were there. “And wait, isn’t it Mike Modano in disguise?” they all stared.
He ripped off his uniform and written across his chest, was not a Superman “S” but a Stars logo as we all might have guessed.
“I broke it off with my fiance, and I’m back on the prowl. If I can’t win an ESPY, I can at least rescue a damsel with style.”
The all-star grabbed Mia and told her to chill, that because her abs weren’t like Brandi’s she was still quite a thrill.
He told Anna that she’ll maybe win someday on Wimbledon’s grass. And if not, who cares, nobody’s paying attention to anything except her nice — forehand.
When all was settled and the crowd began to cheer and yell, Modano climbed up to the stage in the front and said his farewell.
“Now Tiger! Now Shaq! Now Marion! And Phil Jackson! Now Kurt Warner! Now Jeter! Now Pedro! And Speedy Claxon!”
Finally the night of the ESPYs had passed, and Mia and Anna were friends at last.
When you’re feeling like Carl Everett, the Grinch of Christmas Day, cheer up and be glad you don’t own the Clippers of L.A.
So here’s Happy Holidays and Happy ESPYs to you one and all.
It’s been nice getting to know this semester, it’s been a great fall.
I want $200 million, office space in the ballpark, my own private jet aside from my teammates, billboards announcing the fact that you’re lucky enough to have me on your team and a guarantee that I will always be the highest paid baseball player.
Quit your whining. I used to put you in the same sentence as Nomar and Jeter. Now I wouldn’t even have you clean gum off the bottom of their shoes. Good luck with your free agency. I hope you sign with Atlanta and room with Rocker.