Some have Christmas. Some have Hanukkah. Some have Festivus. But we Zelda fans? We have nothing. So many of the world’s major religions have traditions celebrating love and togetherness to help us brave the long, dark nights of winter, but Zelda fans have no such tradition to fill our hearts with meaning. For us, the wintertime means only despair. But what if I told you that wasn’t always the case?
During my extensive and very credible academic research in historic anthropolological religionic study, I have made the shocking discovery of a tradition called “Groosemas,” a long-forgotten holiday celebrated by ancient Zelda fans thousands of years ago. Every year on December 24th, or “Groosemas Eve,” ancient peoples would welcome a power known as “Groose” into their homes. Materializing itself in the shape of a large red-haired man, Groose would deliver treasure chests to young girls and boys pure at heart, to be opened the next morning. Families would gather at the dinner table that night and enjoy a large feast centered around the main dish, “Groose Beef.”
Without further ado, I present to you an ancient Groosemas poem entitled “The Night Before Groosemas,” a first-hand account of the ancient tradition celebrated so fondly so many years ago.
‘Twas the night before Groosemas, and all through Skyloft
Not a creature was stirring. Not even Chris Hoff!
Hover Boots were placed by the chimney with care
In hopes that St. Groose soon would be there.
The students were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of Pumpkin Soup danced in their heads.
Mallara in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to the clouds below.
When, what my wondering eyes should adore,
But a mini Loftwing, and a small pompadour.
With a burly old driver, so loud and obtuse,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Groose!
More rapid than Blade Traps his avian came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called him by name!
“Now Loftwing! Now, Loftwing! Now, Loftwing and Loftwing!
On, Loftwing! On, Loftwing! On, Carl—er… Loftwing!
To the top of the dorm! To the top of the wall-oftwing!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away, Loftwing!”
As dry leaves that before the wild Thunderhead fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the statue the Loftwing he flew,
With the Pouch full of plunder, and St. Groose too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard a great caw
The prancing and pawing of each little claw.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Groose came with a bound.
He was dressed all in cloth, from his hair to his foot,
And his clothes were quite spotless of ashes and soot.
A bundle of bluster he’d flung on his back.
He looked like no Mask Salesman, flexing his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! His dimples how sultry.
His cheeks were like Zeus’, his nose so un-paltry!
His large mouth was spread out, like a banana,
And his glorious jawline was as clean as my nanna’s.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad frame and a boulder-hard belly
That shook not when he laughed—it made me so jelly!
He was strapping and buff, a right jolly young elf,
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 lots of words, and went straight to his work,
And filled the Hover Boots, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!
He sprang to his bird, to the sky stressed his power,
And away they both flew like the stem of a Heart Flow’r.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he soared out of sight,
“Happy Groosemas to all, and Groose Groose a Groose night! Groose.”
Merry Groosemas, everyone. May the winter season bring you great happiness ever more.