Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a Toucher was stirring, not even the HOF. The stockings were hung by the VB bar with care, In hopes that The Chairman soon would be there. The kids were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of winning games danced in their heads. And the VC in old man shorts, and I in my baseball cap, Had just settled our brains for a very big drink. When out on the prize winning lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the couch to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen gum leaves Made such a mess that the VC would fix tomorrow When, what to my blood shot eyes should appear, But a Triton Ute, and nine fellow Toucher's. With a little old driver, so achingly slow, I knew in a moment it must be the Chairman. More rapid than eagles his Touchers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name! ...
The stories of men who challenge themselves day in day out across grass, road, trail and mud.