'Twas the night before Sweepstakes and I drove to the site
Where my antennas bristled -- Oh! I'd built them just right!
The quad loops were hung off of towers with stacks
Of multielement yagis with high front-to-backs.
It was miles from power lines, as silent as snow
Falls in places up here when the wind doesn't blow.
And the mountain we're on and the plains down below
Were all covered with dew drops and they sparkled just so.
So I nestled down o'er the cab of my camper
And dreamed of conductive soils that couldn't be damper.
And a sky so reflective that signals could hop
All the way into Maine with nary a stop.
I awoke to a pinhole of light on the floor
Casting shadows of hundreds of sunspots or more.
But I don't have the internet here in my camp
So I couldn't tell if conditions were cramped
Or if signals were loud until my generator
Was steadily purring before noon, but not later.
And so I was ready, and the Sweepstakes began,
And up on ten meters I steadily ran.
>From the back of my camper, at the top of the hill
Way up on the mountain on ten did I drill
A big hole in the band where no one would invade.
Where they lined up and called me. Oh, the contacts I made!
And upward and skyward my rate did it climb
'Til it passed all the figures that I'd had in mind
When I'd planned this adventure for decades and then
Built my station of dreams at this mountain road's end.
Fifteen meters, fantastic! Twenty supreme!
Fourty meters, as such, was the band of my dream!
Oh! My numbers were big, and no one was near me!
But I missed multipliers, why didn't they hear me?
Well, they didn't call, and I didn't answer.
The high rates, you see, are somewhat of a cancer.
I couldn't go searching with my pile-up so big,
So I dined on the contacts in the style of a pig.
So, where's Puerto Rico, and where's VE8?
And others are missing, but I'm doing great
In the contact department, 'til to 80 I went
But then I discovered the bands were all spent!
I made no more contacts, so I went to bed
A bit early with thoughts of big rates in my head.
So tomorrow I'd prosper, tomorrow I'm king,
And I'd get multipliers and contacts would zing!
So I found Puerto Rico on 15 before
I fired up on 20 to build on my score.
But his numbers were higher than mine, that's for sure!
Impossibly higher, there wasn't a cure.
Forget about winning, that guy is the best
Scorer ever was in the November contest.
Even Pedro's big station down there didn't win
Like this guy keeps winning and winning again.
Rush Drake, eat your heart out, and Larry Lekashman
Try holding the torch up in similar fashion!
Oh, well! On I'm plodding, it's making me queasy
That everyone, everywhere's beating me easy.
My rate's going down. Gosh, what is the matter?
Is my coax melting? Are my antennas flatter
Than pancakes on griddles, uncooked pancake batter?
And the few that do call me, I've worked them before.
Wear out the F1 key, this contest's a bore!
Is my A/B switch broken? Is it my RIT?
I get much less attention than zero SD!
And that guy in LA, the Q precidence man,
His pile-up is driving me off of the band!
I tune on rig two, the CQ message roars,
But nothing I do seems to help with the scores.
I keep hearing big numbers from guys I can't work,
And the next guy who does call me is such a big jerk.
He takes ten minutes telling me number 22
Way too many times then gives up like he flew
Off the face of the Earth, but what could I do?
The contest has ended, I turn off the genny,
I frown, and I think back, "one contest too many?"
Well, I'll be back next year, and I hope that I'm louder.
>From some other place, and air plane, a cloud, er,
Maybe San Juan, yeah that's the ticket.
I'll pick the best place, or maybe you'll pick it.
We'll keep fighting on in this duel on the air,
'til all of us everywhere no longer care.
"Impossible," you say, well I guess I agree,
So I'd better stop writing before you hurt me.
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