'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Nation,
Sox fans were still stirring from the Gonzo-Crawford celebration;
Red Stockings were hung in third place just last year,
Now the hope is the Yankees have a view from the rear
Our GM was nestled all smug in his bed,
While visions of a bullpen plum danced in his head;
And Werner in his ascot, and John taking a nap,
They're both so run-down from all this Liverpool crap
When over at Fenway there arose such a clatter,
Did Jacoby get traded? Is there a tweet on the matter?
Away to Yawkey I flew like a flash,
Snuck under a gate and paid an usher with cash;
The Citgo sign on the breast of the 4-day-old snow,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below
When, what to our wondering eyes should appear
But New Kids on the Block, Backstreet Boys must be near
With a little plump maestro, so lively with knack,
I knew in a moment, Charles Steinberg was back
More rapid than eagles new relievers they came,
Tito whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Wheeler! now, Miller! now, Albers, Atchison!
On, Doubront! on Bobby! on, Bardsy, Papelbon!
Will Pap last as the closer? A committee the call?
Is Jon going away? He wants more pay! Say goodbye in the fall!"
No more bridge for your Red Sox, limit is the sky
Store-bought team full of All-Stars, Lester might win the Cy;
With a stud at first base, Youk on the corner at third
Laser Show back at second, injuries cured for this herd
And then, in a twinkling, he strolled to the mound,
The prancing and pawing of this hard-throwing hound,
Laying his fingers aside of the seam,
No more blisters... Stan�s Rodeo Cream
He threw out his hand, tight belly twisting around,
Down toward home plate, the ball took off with a bound;
He spoke not a word, just continued to work,
He went into his windup; didn't act like a jerk,
His eyes�how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
He threw like the old Rocket, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment, Beckett had the old kick;
His heater�s mid-nineties, the curve ball has bite,
Let�s mark him down for a win every fifth night!
And nice to see Dice-K, looking so fit and trim
Japan's National Treasure found his way to a gym
Lackey showed up real early, Marco's ready to play
Even Lowry is healthy, well, for now anyway
Living up to the hype, A-Gon hit the ball high,
'Tek grinded away, Youk slugged hard line drives;
Cam's the rare righty, Carl Crawford! in left,
Catching could be a problem, unless Salty is deft;
Papi had the old stroke back, when he hit �em they flew,
They all batted around, even J.D. Drew!
The crowd sprang to their feet, to the team gave a whistle,
Jacoby circled the bases, Clay threw another missile;
A new year is upon us and our Olde Towne ballclub,
"We've got Crawford and A-Gon! PENNANT FEVER GRIPS HUB!"
...with apologies as always to Clement Clarke Moore and Henry Livingston, Jr.
Merry Christmas, Boston Dirt Dogs
