Twas the night before Christmas

Christmas Past

Resent from 2003 Twas the Night before Christmas and Happy New Year Dated: 2003 T’was the night before Christmas for every good girl and boy Not a creature was stirring; No, not even Paul Roye The stocks were all traded on the Nasdaq with care In hopes that St. Greenspan soon would be there The portfolio managers were nestled all snug in their beds While visions of rate cuts danced in their heads And my broker on hold and I at my laptop perch Had just settled my mouse for a long Google search; When out on the street there arose such a clatter I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter A way to the window I flew like a flash Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow, Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below, When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a sleigh and eight tiny hedging reindeer At the helm sat a small wizened man, And I knew right away it was St. Alan. More rapid than ECNs his hedgers they came, And he whistled, and shouted and called them by name: “Now Macro! Now, Short-Seller! Now Distressed and Risk Arb! On Long/short! On Bond Arb! On Convertibles! and Swaps! To the top of the parking garage! To the top of the wall! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!” As trading tickets that before the final close do fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky; So up to building-top the coursers they flew, With the sleigh full of Hedge Funds and St. Alan too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof, The shouts drawn by each long-only goof — As I drew in my head and was turning around, Down the fire escape St. Greenspan came with a bound. He was dressed all in green from his head to his gut And his face was furnished with hope of a final fed cut; A bundle of prospectuses he had flung on his back, And he look’d like a peddler just opening his pack From it he drew; a tiger for Julian; a market wizard for Jack But for bad Michael Berger—not even some slack. A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread; He spoke not a word but went straight to his work, And fill’d all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose; He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight, “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”