Happy holidays to you all. Here are a few sports-related carols:

"Andy Reid at the Podium"

(To the tune of "Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow")

Oh, your interviews are so frightful, your comments so un-insightful.

And since you don't seem to care, I won't go, I won't go, I won't go.

You rarely show signs of thinking, even when your team is sinking.

So when the mikes' red lights glow, I won't go, I won't go, I won't go.

When you finally say, "Time's yours," how I hate being part of the swarm.

Since your effort consistently bores, I'm stayin' home where it's warm.

Oh, the stories are slowly dying, 'cause you're hardly even trying.

So as long as you loathe us so, I won't go, I won't go, I won't go.

"Phillies Fans' Off-Season Blues"

(To the tune of "Jingle Bells")

Stashing all your dough, though we're just one horse away.

Oh, the deals you blow, laughing all the way.

Guys on third-base stink; big hole in center field.

What fun it is to hide and think your flaws will be concealed.

David Bells! David Bells! Bums like this we pay.

Oh, what fun it is to hide, when we could be making hay.

"Eagles Fan Rag"

(To the tune of "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year")

It's the most wonderful time for a beer.

With your fresh bruises swellin' and nutcases yellin', "Hey, shed your brassiere!"

It's the most wonderful time for a beer.

There'll be Skins fans for slugging, Jack Daniel's for chugging, and friends passing out in the snow.

There'll be boos for the Luries and tales of the glories of Birds seasons long, long ago.

It's the most wonderful time for a beer.

There'll be much missile-throwing, john lines will be growing when halftime is near.

It's the most wonderful time for a beer.

"Jolly Old Jack Nick-a-laus"

(To the tune of "Jolly Old St. Nicholas")

Jolly old Jack Nick-a-laus, enjoy fame while it lasts.

Because all of your golfing feats soon will be bypassed.

Tiger Woods is playing through. You will be footnoted.

Enjoy those records while you can. You're due to be demoted.

"Donovan Is Splittin' This Town"

(To the tune of "Santa Claus Is Comin' to Town")

You'd better watch out. You'd better not cry.

Better not pout. I'm telling you why.

Donovan is splittin' this town.

He's making a list and checking it twice. Gonna find out who's payin' his price.

Donovan is splittin' this town.

He's tired of your griping. He's tired of your jive.

He knows when he's been good or bad, so lay off of No. 5.

You'd better watch out. You'd better not cry.

Better not pout. I'm telling you why.

Donovan is splittin' this town.

"The Sixers' Fate"

(To the tune of "I'll Be Home for Christmas")

We'll be done by Christmas. You can count on that.

We've got Mo, but we need dough and players people know.

Christmas Eve will find us too far back to care.

We'll be done by Christmas, 'cause we ain't got a prayer.

"Winner's Wilderness"

(To the tune of "Winter Wonderland")

No parade, are you listening? Another flop we'll be christening.

It's year after year we cry in our beer. We're livin' in a winner's wilderness.

No surprise that we're boo birds. Have you looked at the new Birds?

We give them support. Our dreams they then thwart.

We're livin' in a winner's wilderness.

In preseason, we all get so giddy. Hoping this will be the year at last.

Then there comes the letdown for the city. And just like that, another year has passed.

Maybe soon, we'll conspire to give up on the Flyers.

To stop paying cash to get our hopes dashed.

We're livin' in a winner's wilderness.

"Billy the Pats' Coach"

(To the tune of "Frosty the Snowman")

Billy the Pats' coach was a glum and sneaky cheat.

With a torn sweatshirt and a headphone hat and a team no one could beat.

Billy the Pats' coach has a spy to steal your signs.

He's 14 and 0, yet he has to know what you're runnin', damn the fines.

There must be some suspicion that causes him to cheat.

'Cause even though he's got three rings, he still fears getting beat.

Oh, Billy the Pats' coach is obsessed as he can be.

Why must he snoop to get the scoop? Does it give him some odd glee?

Thumping this week's foe.

Thumping this week's foe.

Running up the score.

Thumping this week's foe.

Thumping this week's foe.

Like it's a freakin' war.

"Bill Parcells"

(To the tune of "Silver Bells")

Bill Parcells. Bill Parcells. He's coming out of retirement.

How's this sleaze move with ease from one rich job to another?

He's deceiving. He'll be leaving in less than a year. Yet in every front office, you'll hear:

"Bill Parcells. Bill Parcells.

Won't you please come save my poor team?

Bill Parcells. Bill Parcells.

I'll let you swim in my cash stream."

"Wreck Baseball"

(To the tune of "Deck the Halls")

Wreck baseball with steroid vials. Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la.

Homers make our dumb fans smile. Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la.

Muscle up and hit for power. Fa-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la.

Make this baseball's darkest hour. Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la.

Contact staff writer Frank Fitzpatrick at 215-854-5068 or ffitzpatrick@phillynews.com.