There once lived a leprechaun named Patty O' Celtic.

He lived in the Boston Garden with his clique.

After the game ended and the floor was swept,

and the janitors slept,

slowly they crept,

onto the basketball court.

They played a game of sort,

called basketball, as we know it today,

and Pat always lost to his dismay.

He always got put down by all of his friends,

finally, he said, "My losing shall end!"

So late every night while his friends were asleep,

onto the basketball court Pat would creep.

He wanted to play like Larry Bird could,

but he never thought he would be that good.

He practiced his shot, his rebound, his slam.

Finally he concocted a reversed double-pump jam.

Late one night when his eyes couldn't stay open,

he laid down and slept and then finally awoken.

A zamboni was coming and he wasn't aware,

he looked up and was squished, to his despair.

So every game you see at the Garden,

think of Patty and what he put his heart in.

He's a symbol for fans, rich or poor,

every time you look at center floor.

This, my friend, is a legend to be told,

for hundreds of years to the young and the old.