Tis the season for sailfish

Every year I twist the poem Twas the night before Christmas. I have been doing it for going on 10 years now. The only thing that remains the same each year is the rustry old sleigh and eight screwed up reindeer. I hope you enjoy it and feel free to pass it on

 

Twas a few weeks before sailfish season and through all the marinas ,

Deckhands were waxing and saying my boat is cleaner.

The reels are all re spooled and tucked away with great care

In hopes that the sailfish soon would be there.

Each night the crews, are all nestled in bed

With visions of sailfish dancing in their heads

My deck hand in his bunk and me on the couch

Boat bunks are not comfy they make you say Ouch!

When out on the water, there arose such a clatter

I sprang from the couch to see whats the matter

I ran to the back deck as quick as a flash

I tripped on a bucket and busted my ass

And what to my old failing eyes should appear

But that same rusty old sleigh and eight screwed up reindeer

The driver was drunk and I saw him get sick

Then his reindeer did stop and give it a lick

He circled the marina and when he went past

The smell was horrific. Did his reindeer have gas???.

They came in and landed, right on the main dock

The smell was real bad, like my deck hands wet socks

I asked what he needed and he slurred with his speech

I been drinking schnapps, I think it was peach

He was dress all in red and had a big ole fat butt

It could only be matched by the size of his gut

I invited him aboard, As any good captain would do

He asked to use the head, he need to go Number two

I had no peach schnapps so I gave him some rum

Just as any old respectable captain would've done

His face was well weathered, Like a weary old salt

He said " Your head, it wont flush, but it sure ain't my fault"

His skin was sun burned and his lips were all chapped

He remember why he came and his finger he snapped

He had come to bring good luck and a few fishing reels

The cold fronts and sailfish were right on his heels

He could not stay long and had to leave in a hurry

Someone's hunting his deer, So quickly he scurried.

He looked to the north wind and bid me good night

Then he guided his sleigh right back out of the bight

He hit a few sail boats when he started to go up

Then he tilted the drink, I'd put in his red cup.

I heard him exclaim as he rode out of sight

Merry Christmas to all and soon comes the bite.

Capt. Ed