'Twas the Night Before Christmas
'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