Twas the night before lottery and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring not even a Grous.

The banners were hung by the rafters with care,
In the hopes that St. Auerbach soon would be there.

The fans were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of numbers 1 or 2 danced in their heads.

And Ainge with his draft board, and Wyc in his cap,
Had just settled down to a summer league recap

When out in the Garden there arose such a clatter,
Ainge sprang from his Street & Smiths to see what was the matter.

Away to the luxury box window he flew like a flash,
Knocking over the Perrier still full in its glass.

The spotlight on parquet so far below,
Illuminated dancers practicing the "pop n go".

When what to Ainge's wandering eyes should appear,
But a miniature Leprechaun, too long away from here.

He was a sour soul, but lively and quick,
So long between banners, he'd been quite sick.

More rapid then bounce passes, his wrath it came,
He snarled and cursed and called them by name.

Now Pitino, Now Carr, Now Wallace and O'Brien,
On Gaston, On Niednagel, on Bulpett and Ryan.

To the top of the scoreboard! To the top of the rim!
Nothing else could be heard above the rising din!

As dry leaves before that wild hurricane flew,
It is time for the Celtics to begin anew!

So now we looked to New Jersey as never before,
To count backward the teams looking to score.

Backward, backward the numbers they fell,
Who would be #1, only time could tell.

Ten became five and there came such a hush,
Soon all would know the result, no need to rush.

The leprechaun smiled, but held his jig at bay,
For Stern had four team names yet to say.

Who would those names be, I'd say but I can't,
We'll just have to wait for Oden or Durant.

So the fans we all wait, unsure of our fate,
But the Leprechaun knows - you'll see - just wait!