The story of Winter-een-mas

Twas the night before Winter-een-mas, in one darkened arcade,
From the back came a glow, of a game being played;
The power-ups were mighty, the high score was near,
The gamer grinned wide, for Winter-een-mas was here.

As gamers 'round the world waited with anticipation,
Huddled in groups by their favorite game station;
The lone arcade gamers, with eyes light up bright,
Beat the high score at the stoke of midnight.

Then from the other machines there arose such a noise,
The gamer startled and spun, clutching his coins;
As the dark arcade lit up, the gamer swallowed his fear,
And watched as the spirits of winter-een-mas began to appear.

Surrounded by light, they hovered in mid-air,
Such breathtaking beauty, he could not help but to stare;
He knew them of course, all gamers did,
And one by one, recognition set in.

The spirit of action and adventure, the platformer great,
A hero by name, and alpha by fate;
With a whip or a gun, or whatever may be,
Nothing stands in his way, with a princess in need.

Along side him he saw, a rather peculiar lad,
Quiet by nature, with a desire to frag;
First person shooters are his field, his sole expertise
And no one is better, at bringing noobs to their knees.

And he couldn't mistake, with his many bruises and scrapes,
The one who beat opponents into interesting shapes;
It's the spirit of fighting games, and that's the reason he drools,
Too many blows to the head, and kicks to the jewels.

Be it surprise zergling rush, or skilled micro-management,
Through the fog of war, he saw the spirit could handle it;
Empires had risen and had fallen, under his command,
There was no disguising the real-time strategy fan.

There was the spirit of racing genre, looking ready to start,
With his goggles and racing gloves, and speed in his heart;
In a plane or a boat, or just a fast automobile,
He's always at home when behind some sort of wheel.

And as everyone does, when the vixen of roleplay he saw,
The arcade gamer had to kneel down, to pick up his jaw;
With her mana and hit points, and ten-sided die,
Many fell under her RPG spell, and never know why.

And last but not least, the patron of sports games,
Ailed by and old football injury, or that's what he claims;
Yard by yard and inning by inning, year after year,
They say he loves winning....almost as much as beer.

They spoke not a word, but went straight to their labors,
Moving quickly and quietly, without waking the neighbors;
They spreed Winter-een-mas joy, and when they were done,
The spirits flew off, for seven days of fun.

They took to the sky, with a whole world to travel,
And gaming spirit to celebrate, to reach the last level;
But as they departed, the lone gamer heard them exclaim,

"HAPPY WINTER-EEN-MAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD GAME!"

Well, this made my day.