He Hits (Off) Key Topics

It being the holiday season and all, some days you wake up and feel like singing:

Jingle bells, jingle bells, how old is Beltre?

The Dodgers gave new meaning to “prematurely gray”--hey!

Jingle bells, jingle bells, the Dodgers seem real mean.

But look closer and you’ll see it’s Boras who’s 15.

*

Deck the halls and let’s get Hackett.

Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la.

His rep, Trojan fans just love to crack it.

Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la.

He’s ripped for always changing his mind.

Fa-la-la, fa-la-la, la-la-la.

He wins 10 next year, they’ll kiss his be-hind.

Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la.

*

We, three Kings, of Los Angeles are

The only guys left still playing hard.

We started quick, you thought we were slick

Now we’re skating like frozen lard.

Oh, oh . . . goals of wonder, goals of might,

We’ve allowed enough goals to fry the red light.

But we’ll do better, we’ll bet our sweaters, just please stop saying, “Yeah, right.”

*

Oh, Staples Center, oh Staples Center.

How quiet are your rafters.

Went to a game, the other night,

Spent 50 to park, and then slept tight.

Oh Staples Center, oh Staples Center.

My couch is less expensive.

*

Away in a manger

Oily pillow on the bed.

This must be where Lavin

Lays down his slick head.

The stars in the sky look down on a roach.

Who scurries around yelling, “But can he coach?”

*

The first Kobe, that we did meet.

Was so full of energy, he was so neat.

Then he grew up, and kept shooting from Mars.

The Lakers weren’t champions, but he was a star.

Kobe, Kobe, Kobe, Kobe

We love you, we love you, just don’t take that three.

*

You better watch out, you better not cry, you better not pout I’m telling you why.

Al’s Raiders are coming to town.

He’s making a list and looking for space.

Keep your doors locked and spray him with Mace.

Al’s Raiders are coming to town.

He thinks that you’ve forgotten.

He was lousy to the roots.

Remind him you hate muggings.

And those white silk jogging suits.

Buy a big dog, dig a deep ditch.

Warn him you’re calling Todd Marinovich.

Al’s Raiders are coming to town.

*

Hark the Anaheim Angels sing.

Glory to the . . . what exactly?

*

Jackson, the coach man,

Was a jolly, happy soul.

With little blue glasses and a big gray beard,

Had his Lakers on a roll.

Jackson, the coach man,

Is a cook who knows his spice.

But before making plans for a title feast,

Let’s see how he boils Rice.

*

Oh parking space, oh parking space.

Are you painted with a wheelchair?

Oh parking space, oh parking space.

Are you painted with a wheelchair?

Although you cannot talk or see,

Bruin football foes vote you MVP.

Oh parking space, oh parking space.

Are you painted with a wheelchair?

*

Silent night, holy night.

Clipper games are such a sight.

Fans in the suites watch football on TV.

The upper deck? Empty, far as the eye can see.

Where are they going to move next?

Where are they going to move next?

*

Good King Johnny Buss once looked down

On the Sparks of L.A.

Decided they must be torn down.

Though they went nearly all the way.

Fired the GM and the coach,

Then gave away their best shot.

You gripe you aren’t publicized like men,

Be thankful that you’re not.

*

Joy to the world.

This column’s done.

Another day of stealing pay.

Spoofing carols is a shameless trick.

By a cookie-eating scribe who has no schtick.

There was nothing else to write.

There was nothing else to write.

There was nothing, nothing else to write.

*

Bill Plaschke can be reached at his e-mail address: bill.plaschke@latimes.com.