Twas the night before comp, when all through the world
when a coder was coding, even a downloader;
The tools weren’t hung by the bench with care,
In hopes that first place soon would be there;
The builders were nestled all snug in their pits;
While visions of robotics breaking in their heads;
And mentors in their places, and us in ours,
Had just settled our brains for a long comp week,
When out on the filed there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my seat to see what was the matter.
Away to the gate, I flew like a wire,
Tore open the pit and up the path.
The game on the field, of the game objective,
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a miniature robot and eight tiny human player,
With a little old me, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he must be Dean kaman.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
"Now, Tempest! now, Martians! Raptor and Lightning Robotics!
On, 4377! on, 3175! on, 3322 and 3655!
To the top of the seats! to the top of the field!
Now announce away! announce away! announce away all!"
As leaves that before the wild game piece fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mounted to clime;
So up to the robot the pieces they flew
With the sleigh full of codders, and Dean Kaman too—
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the field
The pounding and rounding of each little part.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the announcement, Dean Kamam came with a bound.
He was dressed all in tools, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with grease and gears;
A bundle of part he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his hands, so rough!
His cheeks were like hammers, his nose like a limelight!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a banner,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the coral;
The stump of a bolt he held tight in his teeth,
And the threads, it encircled his head like a reef;
He had a broad face and a little round coder
That coder when he thought, like a bowl full of anymark jelly.
He was thin and smart, a right jolly old man,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
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 filled all the pin boxes; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the field he rose;
He sprang to his trailer, and his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a scorer.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—
“Happy States to all, and to all good luck!”
FRC, 4377, Alizebeth Lewis