Columnist Jon Ralston: Merry Christmas to all …

Friday, Dec. 21, 2001 | 4:10 a.m.

Not a Democrat was stirring, resigned to their fate;

The party was hung by an anointment, yet Chairman Care,

Still hoped that Saint Oscar would still be there.

The dreamy Democrats were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of the Assembly danced in their heads;

And Harry with his whip and Majority-Leader-In-Waiting cap,

Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,

When from his computer, there arose such a clatter,

Harry sprang from his bed to see what was the matter.

Away to his computer he flew to read Flash,

Opened up the file and cleaned out his cache.

The nugget was there, glistening like new-fallen snow,

And gave hope to the senator that he would not have to eat crow.

He read on and what to his wondering eyes should appear,

But news that His Honor might soon be so near,

The revelation couldn't help but make Harry sappy,

He knew in a moment he must get Mayor Happy.

More rapid than eagles Harry dialed the phone,

And he whistled, and shouted, even raised his tone.

"Now JAY BROWN, now SHELLEY, now CHESNOFF, and CAROLYN! On JIM ROGERS, on BOB MILLER, on BILL CASSIDY, yes, even BILL CLINTON. To your phones, to your checkbooks, to anyone else you can find! Now dash away, dash away, we are in a bind."

As anyone ordered by Reid the Ruthless would fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, they just have to try,

So they all made their pitches, off they flew,

With a sleigh full of promises, they had Saint Oscar to woo.

And then in a twinkling, Harry suddenly did hear,

The bowing and scraping of the six muledeer,

He listened to the Michaels, the Larrys, Gary and Lynette,

And no more excited could Harry get.

He was dressed all in pinstripes, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were not tarnished with ashes and soot,

A bundle of promises he had flung on his back,

And he sounded like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his face how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was almost as white as the snow.

The end of an olive he held tight in his teeth,

And the smell of gin encircled him like a wreath;

He had a broad face and a big round belly,

That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old mayor,

Harry laughed when he saw him, in spite of himself;

He thought of four years ago and of Jan,

And he feared that Saint Oscar would be a flash in the pan.

Oscar spoke not a word, but went straight to his task,

And from his jacket, pulled a Beefeater flask,

And taking a swig as he smiled at the whip,

He soon decided to get on with his trip;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his six minions gave a whistle,

And away they all flew back to the city of sin,

But Harry heard him exclaim, amid all the din,

"Happy Christmas to all, but there's no way you can beat Guinn."

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