Clement Clarke Moore wrote the poem, "'Twas the night before Christmas," also called “A Visit from St. Nicholas," in 1822. It is now the tradition in many American families to read the poem every Christmas Eve…and on this eve of Christmas Eve eve, we thought it appropriate to appropriate the poem to our own purposes, with a rthymic look behind the scenes at The Biz Radio Network Broadcasting Complex & Deli.
So, with apologies to the estate of Clement Moore, and it’s attorneys, we present:
It’s the week before Christmas,
and the nation’s a-flutter
On prices of gasoline, oil, guns, and butter.
Our stockings are made in China with care,
In hopes that trade tariffs will no longer be there.
Wall Street bankers are nestled, all snug in their suites,
With visions of bonuses to spend—oh, what a treat!
Ben Bernanke is in office, the Fed governors, too…in hopes their predictions on the economy come true.
On Capitol Hill, November’s brought such a clatter, but Congress is split over weightier matters—
The War in Iraq, Iran and the ‘Stan’s,
And IM’s and e-mails, and Hillary’s plans.
The landscape is tainted by issues of class
And fencing our borders to let no one pass.
Then, what to our wondering ears should appear,
But a mini-oasis in the midst of confusion and fear.
With a little old Moneyman, an investor accomplished…
You know in a moment it must be St. Frish.
More rapid than tickers, his opinions inflame, he heckles and shouts, and he calls them by name:
“Now Karl! Now Richard! Now Tobin, Janjigian!
Oh, Mit, get Dick Morris! Elisea is missing~
“To the top of the Nasdaq! To the top of the Dow!
The market is moving, into which your money let’s plow!”
There are more elves that make up this merry biz band:
Brent Clanton each morning is waving his hand.
Buddy Cantu leads the Biz Radio Orchestra and Chorus, And Kristina joins in, her voice rich and sonorous.
Michael Norman extols the virtues of being averse, Jack and John continually square off and rehearse
The markets’ numbers, and meaning to those on Main Street, And Ray Lucia's Brain Trust is pretty tough to beat.
Del Walmsley says it’s lifestyle, not money that matters, and Jack Bouroudjian smoothes the nervousness from investors in tatters.
At last in the line up, Daniel Frishberg enthralls,
The protector of the innocent investor, he calls…
So on to the markets, investors pursue,
With a studio full of talkers, and The Moneyman, too.
He’s dressed in polyester from his head to his foot.
His clothes aren’t that tarnished, they just don’t fit really good.
There’s a bevy of beauties surrounding his stand,
Who assist in performing the show he commands.
He scans all the markets with a click of his mouse;
The party is ON when Dan’s in the house.
His eyes -- how they twinkle—his dimples, how merry!
His cheeks are like roses, his nose like a cherry!
He has a longish face and not much of a belly
And he wheezes when he laughs like a fist-ful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
But Keith Klein straightened him out, in spite of himself.
Each afternoon at 4, there’s a gathering crowd
The promo says they murmur, but not very loud.
And when he’s finished each night, after six,
He reads over his notes and the stocks that he picks.
Then he springs to his Benz, and to Elisea gives a whistle, and away they both go like the down of a thistle.
And you’ll hear him exclaim, as he drives out of sight: There’s an old saying about hands in the cookie jar...but it’s Christmas, so good night.
I will be taking time off to be with my family between Christmas and New Year's; there will be a best-of show on the day after Christmas, and Jack Warkenthien will fill the broadcast booth for me the rest of the week.
I'll see you on the Radio...next year!