The Christmas Miracle didn’t pan out. Up until the final two minutes I hoped that perhaps it might possibly happen…but as per the theme of 2010, we ended up losing by 4 as time ran out.

However, there were mini miracles. The Saints, Bucs, and Giants all lost, which means the Pack is still alive for another week. And if Brett Joe & Co can muster up a win tonight…that would be close enough to a full-sized miracle for me. I’ll take it!

DJ Gallo always does an excellent job wrapping up the events of the weekend in his Monday article, NFL Hangover. This edition is informative and funny and Christmasy, which makes it the perfect feature of the day. Enjoy my friends…and pray for the Vikings.

‘Twas the week before Christmas, when all through the NFL
Not a player was hoping to get fined by Roger Goodell;
Tom Brady was artfully preparing his hair,
In hopes that Gisele would continue to care;

The Vikings were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of warm domes danced in their heads;
And Favre in his Wranglers and old, dirty cap,
Had just settled down for a long career’s nap,

When out at the Meadowlands there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the couch to see what was the matter.
Away to the TV I flew in a dash,
Seeing that Tom Coughlin’s face was covered in rash.

The sun on the breasts of the cheerleaders did show
That some had had surgery to make their stuff grow.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But an entire stadium that was needing a beer.

Thanks to a talented quarterback, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Mike Vick.
As rapid as Eagles their touchdowns they came,
And he whistled, and audibled, and called receivers by name;

“Now, Maclin! Now, Celek! Now, Avant and LeSean!
On, Harrison! On, Harbor! No way, they punted to DeSean!
To the top of the division! To the top of the race!
We have created some historic Manning Face!”

And the NFC West just continued to die,
Its continued existence just makes us ask “Why?”
Yet one of its teams in the playoffs is due
A fact that must make many other teams blue.

And then, in a screaming, a man went through the roof.
It was Gus Johnson freaking; I needed no proof.
As I covered my ears and was turning around,
Right through the end zone Tim Tebow came with a bound.

He was covered in muscles, from his head to his toes.
And he said things like “God bless” and “Pray for me, bros.”
A bundle of promise he had flung on his back,
But unfortunately his defense still played as if on crack.

Rex Ryan’s eyes — how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
And his droll little mouth did not put out any calls,
This week to form some of those illegal walls.

The stump of a hoagie he held tight in his teeth,
And the scent of fried meat encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a massive round belly,
That was filled with the contents of the nearest good deli.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And his offense finally scored, in spite of itself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Let Jets fans know a collapse was nothing to dread;

Matt Flynn spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And celebrated a touchdown like that Freddie Mitchell jerk,
And thanks to a defense that gave Brady some woe,
The Pack got the ball with more than four minutes to go;

Flynn sprang to the huddle, and unleashed a few missiles,
But it turned out they needed more time after the whistle.
And I heard him exclaim, as he walked out of sight,
“Les Miles taught me clock management; it’s truly a fright.”