打油讽刺诗一首——观火箭比赛后有感

推荐原因：翻译水平十分强大。。。

北京时间12月24日消息，火箭客场以82-94惨败给活塞，姚麦受伤中途双双离场。此战结束之后火箭战绩沦落为13胜15负，依然徘徊在西区前八名之外。赛后《休斯顿纪事报》专家弗兰-布林布里更新了自己的博客，这次他没有像往常一样写出评论，而是写出一首韵律感知足的诗作，内容颇为讽刺，也不难看出诗作中充满对火箭的爱与焦虑。以下是原文的中文编译——


距离圣诞还有两晚，一切发生在奥本山宫殿，
　　
　　　　一头往下扎的火箭啊，连恶意犯规都懒得干。
　　
　　　　篮筐上的球网也很欠扁，
　　
　　　　就盼望火箭的球都投偏。
　　
　　　　Tmac带着手帕，姚带起帽子保暖
　　
　　　　两人已经准备好冬眠
　　
　　　　偶尔场外传来笑声一片，
　　
　　　　那是斯通和海德又错过了一个空篮
　　
　　　　透过窗户往里张望，布鲁克斯快如闪电
　　
　　　　只是仅仅第四节爆发又怎能保住脸面
　　
　　　　雪花飘舞转眼堆满半座山
　　
　　　　光芒闪烁照出火箭被爆的悲惨
　　
　　　　何时才能满足我那双渴望的双眼？
　　
　　　　回眸一看，这支伪强队竟如去年一般
　　
　　　　没有动力，没有特点，困惑依然
　　
　　　　瞬间我知道一切都因为主教练
　　
　　　　比鹰还快的球员全都按照他的要求到来
　　
　　　　以为知道吹哨、大喊就是主帅：
　　
　　　　“翠西，来！姚明，来！拉夫还有海德，都来来来！
　　
　　　　肖恩，上！查克，上！弗老大和棒子统统给我上！
　　
　　　　去弧顶，去篮下，
　　
　　　　跑死活塞切记自己也别晕菜”
　　
　　　　就像飓风来临时干旱不再的真理不变，
　　
　　　　我发誓他们投篮只睁着一支眼；
　　
　　　　想当年阿帅拉着雪橇满载新的进攻战，
　　
　　　　我还以为火箭马上就要腾空翅展
　　
　　　　咔嚓一声雷鸣闪电
　　
　　　　我转过身一看，
　　
　　　　从烟囱跌落的，正是准备起飞的火箭
　　
　　　　节日前所有人从头到脚都已经装扮，
　　
　　　　当拉希德像个坏孩子时，乖宝宝都在火箭
　　
　　　　得分就像一堆堆礼物丢过来，
　　
　　　　这一切仅发生在麦蒂跛脚之前的20分钟时间
　　
　　　　他的投射，多么明亮耀眼，他的上篮，多么令人愉快！
　　
　　　　他的比赛，多么光辉四溅！只不过要想看，你要抓紧时间！
　　
　　　　因为不一会姚明就因为眉头受伤而嘴角下弯，
　　
　　　　带着四针，他惨兮兮地坐在场边
　　
　　　　巴蒂尔也有6针的缝线，坐在他老大的身边
　　
　　　　看起来就像那个流血狂人拳皇
　　
　　　　海耶斯瑟瑟发抖站在罚球线
　　
　　　　动作显示他已完全失去信念
　　
　　　　还记得邦齐-维尔斯浑圆的肚子和大脸？
　　
　　　　今晚的比赛可没什么表现
　　
　　　　他们就像一群被困住的倒霉蛋
　　
　　　　并且无能为力为自己打个铺盖卷
　　
　　　　斯通这边错失一个跳投，海德肯定对应丢掉一个上篮，
　　
　　　　让活塞明白火箭无人值得畏惧仅需要刹那的时间。
　　
　　　　他们没有交流，他们没有应变，
　　
　　　　13胜15负，火箭就是无法将比赛玩转
　　
　　　　拉希德开心地把头一点
　　
　　　　火箭队员奔向大巴车间，
　　
　　　　一个接一个向前，
　　
　　　　千万别自己人撞了自己人的脸。
　　
　　　　他们驶离了我的眼线，
　　
　　　　突然我听到他们大喊：
　　
　　　　“如果你还坚信It's time，那一定是你把衣服穿反！”

原文：

Bah, humbug! Pistons 94, Rockets 82.
　　(With apologies to Clement C. Moore)
　　Twas two nights before Christmas, when all through the Palace
　　The Rockets went down, with hardly any malice.
　　The nets were hung from the rims with care,
　　In hopes that some shots would soon wind up there;
　　Les and Daryl were nestled all snug in their beds
　　With visions of bricks falling down on their heads.
　　And T-Mac in his 'kerchief and Yao in his cap
　　Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
　　When out on the court there arose such a clatter,
　　It was Rafer and Luther missing layups off a ladder.
　　In through the window, Aaron Brooks was a flash,
　　But a big fourth quarter couldn't stop another mash;
　　The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
　　Gave the luster of that horrible Ch. 20 picture to another big blow.
　　When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
　　But another phony contender, same as last year;
　　With a little old driver, so confused, with no trick,
　　I knew it a moment it must be Coach Rick.
　　More rapid than eagles his players they came,
　　And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.
　　"Now, Tracy! Now, Yao! Now, Rafer and Luther!
　　On, Shane! On, Chuck! On, Stevie and Bonzi!
　　To the top of the key! To the low post and paint!
　　Outhustle the Pistons and try not to faint!"
　　As the dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
　　I swear they took shots with only one eye;
　　So up to the house-top, the Rockets they flew,
　　With a sleigh full of promises, and Coach Rick's new offense, too.
　　And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
　　The prancing and pawing of each little doggie hoof.
　　As I came back from halftime and was turning around,
　　Down the chimney the Rockets came with a bound.
　　They were dressed all in white from their head to their feet,
　　And while 'Sheed's boys got ugly, they stayed nice and sweet.
　　A bundle of toys he had thrown on his back,
　　But after 20 minutes and 14 points, off limped T-Mac.
　　His shots, how they twinkled! His driving layups, how merry!
　　His play, how it sparked! But to watch, better hurry!
　　Soon Yao's droll little mouth would droop in a frown,
　　With four stitches, he would sit and in misery drown.
　　Shane with six stitches, sat next to his leader,
　　Looking like Chuck Wepner, the ol' Bayonne Bleeder.
　　Standing fearful on the foul line, Chuck clenched his teeth,
　　And displayed that form that is way beyond belief.
　　Remember when Bonzi had a broad face and a round little belly?
　　Well, this night his game was a mere bowl full of jelly.
　　They were hapless and beaten, a quite tired bunch of elves,
　　And they couldn't do anything to help their poor selves.
　　Missed jumpers by Rafer, missed layups by Head,
　　Soon gave the Pistons to know they had nothing to dread.
　　They spoke not a word, and it's hardly a quirk,
　　For at 13-15, this just doesn't work.
　　Using two fingers to squeeze on his nose,
　　'Sheed gave a nod and said, "The stink, it has rose!"
　　The Rockets ran to their bus, to the charter plane fled,
　　Before one another was hit and another one bled.
　　And I heard them exclaim, ere they drove out of sight,
　　"If you still think 'It's Time!" maybe your underwear's too tight."