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The Sactown Royatly Yule Log, 2014

Continuing a tradition that dates back to 2009, Sactown Royalty invites you to gather the loved ones and find warmth around the warm glow of your computer screen, and raise your collective voice in song to the Sacramento Kings of Kings.

Doug Benc/Getty Images

And for those of you that are new to the StR Yule log, every holiday carol over the past six years has been provided in this post, along with new salutations for this "forever Sacramento" season.

Caroling a la Kings. Nog 'til you blog. A Jim Les-tivus for the rest of us!

On behalf of everyone here at Sactown Royalty, have a blessed holiday season, and may 2015 be a year that brings health, happiness and prosperity to you and yours. These past couple of years have been special for Kings fans, and I am honored and grateful that I had the opportunity to spend and share them with you. Thanks to each and every one of you.


Fire Malone for Christmas (reprise - see 2013)

I'm Malone this Christmas,

with thoughts and little hair.

Lord Vivek has

thoughts of mad jazz.

Now Corbin's in my chair.


Christmas day will find me

not watching Despicable Me.

The thought of Gru

seethes me through and through.

I did not sign Sessions, it was he.


I'm Malone for Christmas.

It's really quite a shock.

I was shown the door,

because our team's a bore?

Forgive me, but that's a crock.


Christmas Eve will find me

taking little or no action.

But I wish you a(r)ll

a speedy George Karl.

‘Cuz' no one deserves Mark Jackson.


Gru Christmas

I'll have a Gru Christmas, I can't lie.

I'll be so blue wondering why.

I wanted a four

that could score a bit more,

but instead I received a new Ty.


I'll have a Gru Christmas, that's certain.

And when that Gru heartache starts hurtin',

I'll fire down a fifth,

and gird Josh Smith,

or perhaps it's Deron that we're insertin'.


I'll have a Gru Christmas, I'm confessin.'

And that's not just because of Ramon Sessions.

But I'll turn my frown,

Full upside-down.

Because I have not yet opened my trade exception.



Fire Malone for Christmas (note sarcasm)

Fire Malone for Christmas,
Two months and you can see.
The team does blow, and you must know,
Patience is lost on me.

Christmas day will find me,
watching other NBA teams.
Watch the Kings on Christmas?
If only in my dreams.

Fire Malone for Christmas,
Unfair though it may be.
Make no pretense, there's no defense,
Despite his constant plea.

Christmas Eve will find me,
Wishing for LeBron Jeams.
Fire Malone for Christmas,
If only in my dreams.
If only in my dreams.


Hansen Got Run Over by Ranadivé

Hansen got run over by Ranadivé,
Trying to take our team and then his leave.
You can say there's no such thing as Santa,
But as for me and KJ, we believe.

He'd been drinkin' too much Ballmer sweat,
And we warned him that our team would not go.
But he blindly followed the Maloof boys,
Blinded by cheap hookers and blow.

When they found him in Seattle,
Unable and willing to stand.
There were Vivek prints on his forehead,
And a cashed check to STOP for 100 grand.

Hansen got run over by Ranadivé,
Trying to take our team and then his leave.
You can say there's no such thing as Santa,
But as for me and KJ, we believe.

Now were all so proud of Hansen,
He's been takin' this so well.
See him smilin' with both faces,
We'll sure miss him when he's in hell.

It's not Christmas without Hansen,
He would be here if he could
And we just can't help but wonder
What's he think of Bollywood?

Hansen got run over by Ranadivé,
Trying to take our team and then his leave.
You can say there's no such thing as Santa,
But as for me and KJ, we believe.

Grant and Jerry are at the table
And they have long-dried all their tears.
Meanwhile our good and dear friend Hansen
Has interest in Milwaukee deers.

I've warned all my Milwaukee neighbors,
Better watch out for yourselves.
They should never give any credence,
To a man who drives a price and then plays with himself.

Hansen got run over by Ranadivé,
Trying to take our team and then his leave.
You can say there's no such thing as Santa,
But as for me and KJ, we believe.


Mr. Gru (note some more sarcasm)

You're a mean one, Mr. Gru.
You really make a deal,
First Evans becomes Vasquez, then Vasquez becomes Gay, Mr. Gru,
The team is still bad, but we're watching with great zeal!

You're a monster, Mr. Gru,
Our D's an empty hole,
Tyreke and Luc are goners, as is Malone's hair, Mr. Gru,
Coach wanted defensive diamonds and you gave him lumps of coal!

You're a foul one, Mr. Gru,
You're a Marcus Thornton smile,
Salmons is now history, Hayes is history too, Mr. Gru,
It takes a special sort of madman to willingly inherit this pile.

You're a rotter, Mr. Gru,
You're the king of sinful sots,
You gleefully extended Cousins, which made many of us plotz, Mr. Gru,
You may be right on this one, but our stomachs are still in knots!

You nauseate me, Mr. Gru,
With a nauseous super "naus"!,
Gay's contract is enormous, and Thomas is too short, Mr. Gru,
The only way that things could be any conceivably worse would be if you brought back Spencer Hawes!

You're a foul one, Mr. Gru,
And as a Kings fan I am drunk,
Your heart's a JT errant free throw, your soul's a McLemore missed dunk, Mr. Gru,
The three words that best describe how we feel is as follows, and I quote...



The Little Bummer Oy

"Come," they told me, Harumph harumph rumph.
"A new Kings team to see," Harumph harumph rumph. 
"Our finest play we bring," Harumph harumph rumph.
Instead my eyes do sting, Harumph harumph rumph,
Harumph harumph, rumph rumph rumph rumph. 

So please pass the booze, Harumph harumph rumph. 
When we lose. 

Little baby Cuz, Harumph harumph rumph. 
T'd up for all he does, Harumph harumph rumph. 
He's tired of all this crap, Harumph harumph rumph. 
From rage to Turkey Tap, Harumph harumph rumph, 
Harumph harumph, rumph rumph rumph rumph. 

What's your claim to fame, Harumph harumph rumph. 
Suspended another game. 

Petrie nodded off, Harumph harumph rumph. 
With still a perfect coiffe, Harumph harumph rumph. 
I beat my drum for him, Harumph harumph rumph.
Until he left the gym, Harumph harumph rumph, 
Harumph harumph, rumph rumph rumph rumph. 

Then He smiled at me, Harumph harumph rumph. 
No amnesty.


Good Kings Head Coach Smart

Good Kings Head Coach Smart looked out,
On his challenged roster.
Hoping to find legit talent,
Instead finding imposters.
Lacking but the slightest clue,
He looks towards the heavens.
Change your lineup yet again,
There's no Tyreke Evans.

Hither, Cisco, stand by Smart,
Tyreke's knee is swelling.
Brooks is chucking up more threes,
And the fans are yelling. 
We're losing another game,
by quite a hefty point spread.
Outlaw is a "Travis-ty,"
His sight the fans do dread.

"Bring me talent", Smart does plead.
"As fading hope's a glimmer."
"You have plenty," says GP,
"For I have brought you Jimmer." 
James Johnson cannot shoot a lick,
A fact known by the masses.
The shooting drills do him no good,
Nor do his brand new glasses.

Smart, the night is darker now,
And the team blows stronger.
John Salmons is in the game,
I can't take this much longer. 
Isaiah doesn't get much burn,
Marcus is looking forlorn.
Tyler was a lucky man,
When he was a Bighorn.

In Paul Westphal's step Smart trod,
Hoping for improvement.
But as the calendar turns,
There has been no movement.
Therefore, Kings fans, please be sure,
Smart's performance does bear mention.
But he's not going anywhere,
He has an extension.


"All I Want For Christmas Is Burkle"

I don't want a lot for Christmas,
There is just one thing I need.
I don't care about the head coach,
Even though the fans do plead.

I just want you as my owner.
It would give me such a boner.
Make it come full circle.
All I want for Christmas is Burkle.

I don't want a lot for Christmas,
There is just one thing I want.
I don't care about the GM,
Even though he's looking gaunt.

I want you to own our team.
It would really be such a dream.
No LeBron or Kobe or Dirkle.
All I want for Christmas is Burkle.

Oh all the lights are shining so brightly everywhere.
Real Housewives of B.Hills is taken off the air

And everyone's so happy,
No more M*loofs oh so crappy.
Santa won't you bring me the one I really need,
Won't you please Ron Burkle me?

Oh I don't want a lot for Christmas,
This is all I'm asking for.
I just want a brand new owner,
Standing on the hardwood floor.

Please won't you replace the brothers,
I will forsake all the others. 
This could really workle,
All I want for Christmas is Burkle.

All I want for Christmas is Burkle.
All I want for Christmas is Burkle .
All I want for Christmas is Burkle.



Westphal's Wonderland

Turnstiles ring, are you listening, 
The urinals are a glistening.
A beautiful sight, 
Until it's a fright, 
Wandering in Westphal's Wonderland.

Gone away is the Yeti, 
Salmons' here, are you ready?
He dribbles around, 
The shot clock winds down, 
Wandering in Westphal's Wonderland.

In the meadow we can build a point guard, 
Then pretend that he will pass the ball.
He'll say: Should I launch it?
We'll say: No man!
But surely Jimmer
will save us one and all.

Later on, we'll conspire,
Of our longed coaching fire.
To face unafraid,
At least Chuck gets paid,
Wandering in Westphal's Wonderland.

In the meadow we can build a center,
Who likes to think that he's a circus clown
We'll have lots of fun with mister snowman,
‘Til the refs keep our frozen brother down.

When we flow, ain't it thrilling,
But when we blow, it's a chilling
We'll curse and we'll pray, the Kings fan way,
Wandering in Westphal's Wonderland.

Wandering in Westphal's Wonderland.

Wandering in Westphal's Wonderland.


Deck The Gym

Deck the gym with Powerbalance bracelets.
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
As they guard themselves from back debt.
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
Don we now our new apparel.
Fa-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la.
Hope like heck our new squad does gel.
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la.

See the blazing Marcus shooting.
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
Meanwhile Hassan Whiteside's brooding.
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
Jimmer Fredette's taking measure.
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
We all bask in 3-point treasure.
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

We sure hope that Tyreke passes.
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
The old offense was like molasses.
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
J.J. Hickson's got his man pinned
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
Damn, we turned it over again.

Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
Tyler's slam dunk leaves us gawking.
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
Thomas fits right in a stocking.
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
Wondering what this season holds.
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
I wish I was Jerry Reynolds.
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la


Chuck Hayes Is Not Coming To Town

You better watch out,
You better not think.
Better not guess,
I need a drink.
Chuck Hayes is not coming to town.

He's making a test, 
He's taking it twice.
Is it his heart or is it just lice?
Chuck Hayes is not coming to town.

Geoff Petrie must be sleeping, 
GP might be awake.
The test that once was bad is good - 
Pay Chuck more before he flakes.

O! You better watch out!
You better not think.
Better not guess,

How ‘bout one more drink?
Chuck Hayes is not coming to town.
Chuck Hayes is not coming to town.



Hark, as Harold Pressley Sings

Hark, as Harold Pressley sings,

These are not your old school Kings.

Though your heart for victory yearns,

At least you're not watching Evers Burns.

The slogan may be Here We Rise,

While the fans moan towards the skies,

With Cuz in the post proclaim,

Lose and Westphal is to blame.

Hark, as Harold Pressley sings,

These are not your old school Kings.


I'm Dreaming of a Whiteside Christmas

I'm dreaming of a Whiteside Christmas,

Just like the ones I'd like to know.

Where Carl is traded, and Sam downgraded,

Because our current team does blow.

I'm dreaming of a Whiteside Christmas,

Just like the ones I pray to see.

His potential beckons, in spite of fouls by the seconds,

Under E-Muss he will surely flee.

I'm dreaming of a Whiteside Christmas,

With every thread post that I write.

Can a Kings fan's soul be filled with pride?

Perhaps if this Christmas is Whiteside.


The Dreidel Westphal Song (by Omri Casspi)

I have a coach named Westphal,

His rotations made of clay.

And when he's good and ready,

Then maybe I will play.

Oh, Westphal, Westphal, Westphal,

Will I play or will I sit?

I've taken off my warm-ups,

And my Menorah's surely lit.

I think I'm going in now,

But coach has other plans,

It looks like JT at the three,

To the chagrin of the fans.

Oh, Westphal, Westphal, Westphal,

I'm driven to distraction.

It's going to be bad news

When Israel takes action.

My legs are cramping up now,

From sitting on the bench.

I must say my Coach Westphal

Is certainly no mensch.

Oh, Westphal, Westphal, Westphal,

You make me want to fight,

But then I guess it could be worse,

I could be Antoine Wright.



Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the site

Not a threader was stirring, there was nary a fight.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

Including an old one from Terry DeHere.

The bloggers were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of big men danced through their heads.

And Petrie and Levien reviewing the cap,

To see if someone might take on our crap.

When out of on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my bed to see if Sean May had grown fatter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

And found Kenny Thomas counting his cash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,

Gave the objects it brightened an Evans-ly glow.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But two NBA owners with $1 beer.

With an little old driver, so learned and small,

It must be our Coachie next to one Paul Westphal.

More rapid than a hoop-driving Martin they came,

And Westphal whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now JT, now Spencer, now, Tyreke and Donté!

On Beno! On Andres! And what about Omri?"

But Omri's not here, to where did he flew?

He's with Chanukah Harry, delivering toys to the Jews.

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

And lottery balls that once made us cry.

So up to the house-top the coursers set sail,

Aided by Brock's elbows, from which they did flail.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,

The prancing and pawing of Donté, that goof!

As I drew in my head, wondering were I insane,

I was presented with a Doratio candy-Kane.

He was dressed all in fur, and adorned with treasure,

I swore that he was the great Walt Frazier.

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,

And he assured me the Kings were on the right track.

His eyes - how they twinkled! He was kind of like Jerry.

His nose was like fruit - not Peaches, but cherry.

His droll little mouth was drawn like a bow,

And he promised the Kings would no longer blow.

The pipe in his mouth making regular turns,

Makes no sense, but rhymes with Evers Burns.

He had a broad face, and he was quite the joker

He no way resembled Ime Udoker.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

Then I realized it a reflection, I was staring at myself.

A wink of his eyes and a twist of his head,

And the days of lifeless basketball was forever dead.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to work,

Except when he muttered, "Napear's a jerk!'

A laying a finger aside of his nose,

He declared "Tyreke Evans will be greater than Rose!"

He sprang to his sleigh, and whistled his team,

And Spencer and JT instinctively screamed.

But I heard them exclaim, as he drove out of sight,

"Happy Christmas Kings fans, and to all a good-night!"