Twas the night before Christmas and all through the Nation,
Not a member was stirring, not even Etch’s Station.
The motorcycles were parked in the garages with care,
In hopes that riding season soon would be there.
The members were all nestled snug in their beds,
While visons of Rally’s danced in their heads.
The girls in lingerie and the boys in their caps,
Had just settled in for a long winters nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
Ricci sprang from his bead to see what was the matter.
Away to the window he flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to his wondering eyes had he seen,
But the glistening motorcycles of the National Team.
With a little old driver, so cute, what a catch!
He knew in a moment that it had to be Match.
More rapid than eagles his courses they came, and he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
Now Cheap A$$, Now Meat, now Wingman and Chicago Paul!
On Hustler! On Hotdog! On Grump on Rockstar, on El Guapo and Cooper,
To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall.
Now ride away! Ride away! Ride away all!
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane strode,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the road.
So up to the regions the courses they went,
With bikes full of booze and riding hell bent.
And then, in a twinkling, they heard in the hall
They rumble of motorcycles coming for all.
As the members retreated and were turning around,
Through the doors the Board came with a bound.
They were dressed in all leather, from their heads to their feet.
And their clothes were all covered with grime from the street.
A bundle of liquor they had flung on their backs,
And they looked like drunken fireman just opening their sacks.
Their eyes how they twinkled their faces so merry,
Their cheeks were like roses, no more booze they could carry.
They greeted and hugged every member they could,
They laughed and they sand as old friends should.
Together they remembered those that weren’t there,
They toasted those fallen with the utmost of care.
They shared stories and tales around the Christmas tree,
And again made a toast to the members of Station 333.
They spoke not a word but went straight to their work,
Passing out colors and then turned with a jerk.
And turning the keys on their chrome laden rides,
They gave all a nod and waved their goodbyes.
And Ricci jumped on his bike and to his team gave a whistle,
And away they rode like the down of a thistle.
But all heard exclaim , as they rode out without strife,
“Happy Christmas to all and FIRE AND IRON FOR LIFE”
May the trials and tribulations of 2017 be behind us all and may the New Year bring continued brother and sisterhood to all of us in the greatest motorcycle club in the world. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
Respectfully submitted on behalf of the National and Regional Officers and your Club Founders,