For your holiday enjoyment our digital producer Chip Walton put a beer nerd spin on the holiday classic, “The Night Before Christmas”. We wish you all a safe and wonderful holiday season and Happy Brew Year!

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The Night Before Christmas (For Beer Nerds)

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and I all alone,
the overnight brewer, an empty brewery my home.
The others’ brew boots were hung by the whirlpool with care
In hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there.

Our brewmaster was comfy all snug in his bed
as visions of brew days danced in his head.
The packaging crew had left while I, still on the clock,
had just milled the grist for an imperial weizenbock.

When out in the taproom there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the brewery to see what was the matter,
Away to the bar I started to dash,
then suddenly remembered, I should probably check on my mash.

The wonderful aroma on the steam of running-off wort
Made me thirst for Hot Scotchies or a snifter of port.
When what before my wandering eyes should appear
A man at the bar with a flight of eight tiny beers.

After each sip, he gave the most joyous of clicks,
I knew in a moment it must be Saint Nick.
He’d completed his rounds, bringing good cheer to all,
And was sipping IPAs to which he started to call:

On Comet! On Cascade! On Cashmere and Sabro!
Now Fuggle! Now Cluster, and Cryo Amarillo!
To the kettle, to the fermenter, and to the tap wall,
Mash away, mash away, mash away all!

As I weighed first wort hops – something seemed awry.
“Oh no! What is this?” exclaimed I – and started to cry.
A stuck mash on Christmas Eve? I felt I’d been cursed,
gifted a lump of coal, or something much worse.

Then, in a twinkle, I heard in the cellar
The sipping and nipping of biers of the keller.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
In through the barrel room, Saint Nick came with a bound.

He was dressed all in Carhartt, with a white beard and mustache,
His clothes covered in malt dust, his hands with hop hash.
A fat bag of rice hulls he had flung on his back.
And he seemed quite pleased as he opened the sack.

With a wink of his eye, and a twist of his head,
I soon understood I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went like a flash;
Straight to the brew deck and un-stuck my mash.

Just then a taxi pulled into the lot.
Saint Nick gave me a high five and was off like a shot.
He sprang to the cab, this warmest of souls,
He sang to the driver, “To the North Pole!”

And I heard him exclaim as they drove out of sight,
“Malty Christmas to all and to all a good night.”

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