‘Twas the night before Havoc, and all through the stands,
Workers were prepping for the return of the Rams.
Players’ uniforms hung neatly in lockers with care,
In hopes that hoops soon would be there.
The fans were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of turnovers danced in their heads.
And the Rowdies in their t-shirts and Pav in his horns,
Began dreaming of a new season born.
When out on the court there arose such a ruckus,
They sprang to their feet see what ‘twas the fuss.
Away to the arena they dashed, their arms, they were flailing,
Threw open the doors and leaned over the railing.
The scoreboard cast a soft, warm glow on the refinished wood,
And gave luster to racks of basketballs that stood.
When, what to their wondering eyes should see afar,
But a Ram mascot and a team of all-stars.
With a fiery coach so clever, his pep talks were art,
They knew in a moment it must be Shaka Smart.
With more swagger than Monarchs or Spiders his charges they came,
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
“Now, Terrance! Now, Jordan! Now, Treveon and Dougie!
On, Reddic! On, Rob! On, Jarred and Briante!
To the edge of the court! To the back of the glass!
Now wreak Havoc! Wreak Havoc! Wreak Havoc, and fast!
As dry leaves that before the furious games fly,
When they meet with a foe and hoist 3-pointers to the sky,
So baseline to baseline those Rams they flew,
With hearts full of fury and Coach Shaka too.
And then, in a moment, on the court they did hear,
The squeaking of Nikes, the echos of cheers.
As they swiveled their heads and were turning around,
To the bench walked Shaka with nary a sound.
He was dressed in beecroft and bull head to toe,
His threads all custom, Chris Mooney, if you should know.
A clipboard in hand and timeouts in his quiver,
And he looked determined that victories, he’d deliver.
His eyes, how they focused! His hair newly cropped!
His demeanor now stoic! Scheming of offenses to stop!
He won’t be out-prepped or out-coached or out-dressed,
He’s a rock star, just act quite impressed.
The Final Four ring on his hand it did shine,
Tossing twinkles of diamonds to the banners up high.
His stature, while slight, cast a shadow quite large,
And inspired players to step in, take that charge.
He was his ready, determined old self,
They cheered when they saw him, and wished for a season of wealth.
A wink of his eye and a sly little grin,
Soon let them know that he was here to win.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Drew up his presses, then turned with a jerk.
Pointing a finger up towards where the fans would be seated,
And giving a nod, to the locker room he retreated!
He sprang through the doors, to his team gave a call,
And away they all flew as if chasing a loose ball.
But they heard him exclaim, as he strode out of sight,
“Here comes Havoc, be ready tomorrow night!”