This is an especially rough year for many of us. Maybe this will bring a little holiday cheer. I can't call it a 'classic' because I created it (though many of the images it contains are clearly 'classic'), but you can. There are a few other versions out there that I've created. The 'original' standard definition version. Same poem, same music, but back when TV technology was 4:3: The 'live' version. I had performed this poem (without images or music) at many radio club meetings. My ego thought you might like to see me doing it on camera, but adding the images and music for a 'very special' version: Text. This is truly the 'original' version. I wrote it in 1996. The audio and video versions didn't begin appearing for 15 more years, but the text was a December regular on QRZ and many ham radio 'message boards' back in those early days of the Internet. Read it yourself on a club net (warning: it takes more than three minutes, so beware of timing out the repeater): https://www.hamradionow.tv/a-hams-night-before-christmas "No Music" version. Of course, you can't play music on the air, but you can play poems. So this link will take you to a HamRadioNow episode page that includes my 'no music' recording. You can download the mp3 file: https://www.hamradionow.tv/episodes/2016/12/2/hrn-283-a-hams-night-before-christmas And a few of you may wonder 'whatever became of KN4AQ?'. W1YW chased me away ☹ 73 and Happy Merry ☃ - Gary KN4AQ
thank you Gary you should come back and interview Chip /w1yw you are both very intelligent and interesting gentlemen HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO ALL 73
HI GARY, THANKS A MILLION FOR SHARING WITH THE QRZ TROOPS..........BRAVO...... OK IT'S NOW TIME FOR YOUR FRIENDS AT THE CFO CLUB TO SHARE WITH YOU AND THE QRZ TROOPS. =====I THINK THIS IS THE "TORTURED VERSION" ==== 73 GOD BLESS TO ALL AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS
Now now: God gave you free will. I most certainly didn't take it away. I am still here and this is a great video. "Stop and be friendly"-Close Encounters
The Night Before Contest by Bo Tanker 'Twas the night before contest And all through the shack Not a creature was stirring, 'Cept for me and old Jack The coax was hung from the tower with care In hopes propagation soon would be there The wifey was nestled all snug in her bed And rolled her eyes slowly while pounding her head And me in my boxers and Jack in his shorts Entertaining each other with belches and snorts When out in the yard there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my barstool to see what was the matter Away to the window I flew like a flash Tore open the shutters and threw up on the sash. The moon on the trash in the new-fallen snow Gave the luster of Detroit to objects below When what to my wondering eyes should appear But a miniature sleigh just loaded with beer With a pot-bellied driver so slow on his feet I knew in a moment it had to be Pete More blue than a sailor's, his curses they came He whistled and shouted, forgetting our names And then in a twinkling, I heard on the porch A stream of foul language that would make your ears scorch As I drew in my head and was turning around Down the basement steps tumbled old Pete with a bound He was dressed in his Carhartts from his feet to his chest And his clothes were all tarnished with I'd rather not guess A flagon of gin he had strapped to his belt He looked like a dealer who's wares he'd just dealt His eyes, how bloodshot, his dimples were nary His cheeks were exposed, and his nose was quite scary His foul little mouth was stuffed full of chew The beard on his chin was soaked with brown goo There just wasn't room for a pipe in his teeth And the stench, how it circled the man like a wreath He had a red face and a massive round gut That shook when he cussed, right along with his butt He was chubby and plump, a right miserable old sot But when there's a contest, you take what you've got A wink of his eye and a twist of his head Soon gave us to know, we had nothing to dread He spoke not a word but went straight to his work And tuned up on twenty, that crazy old jerk And laying his finger aside of the paddle Cranked out Morse Code like hell in a saddle He sprang into action, he made us all whistle The contacts, they flew like the down of a thistle And we heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight "Well, that oughtta hold ya bums one more night!"
Did bring a smile to me. Also enjoyed the backstory of the poem. Thank you of sharing Gary. May you and your wife and the rest of your family have a wonderful and Bless Christmas. And Good DX 73 WD5ENH Steve
