'Twas the Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Nation,
We were angry that Johnny gave in to New York’s temptation;
Our Red Stockings were hung when Damon took the dare,
(After Manny told him to get the hell out of here);

The GMs were nervous all snug in their beds,
While visions of an irate Larry Lucchino danced in their heads;
Praying for the return of Theo and their fleeing stars,
Window lights were left on; the doors were ajar;

When down in the Crown Royal room there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed as it must be some pressing matter;
Away to the tube, turning NESN on in a flash,
I saw the whole GM committee, Charles trying to make a big splash;

Larry stands up to speak, no time for hello,
He’s reporting “Manny to the Mets” is finally a go;
We get a No. 1 prospect, that’s the whole deal,
Now there’s a hole in left field, this all seems unreal;

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But that getaway gorilla and John Henry in the rear;
He stepped out of his costume, looked ready to attack,
This is the big moment, Theo Epstein was back;

More rapid than Roberts his ops guys they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

"Now, Kapstein! now, Hoyer! now, James and Cherington!
On, Lajoie! on Shipley! on, Jauss and O’Halloran!
To the top of the list! Time to make some calls!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

Players leaving in droves, after the Series flag fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, they take to the sky,
Can Theo trade Wells and poor Matt Clement?
Losing faith in our genius? And his money well spent?

More holes than Swiss cheese, and no idea how to fill ‘em
The fans upset, and miss Manny, Mueller, and Damon;
So down to spring training to Ft. Myers they flew,
With the roster full of boys, and old free agents too.

And then, in a twinkling, he came to the mound,
The prancing and pawing of this new throwing hound,
Laying his finger aside of the seam,
No blisters now thanks to Stan’s Rodeo Cream

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
He went into his windup; then turned with a jerk,
As he threw out his hand, and was coming around,
Down towards home plate, the ball took off with a bound;

He threw like the old Rocket, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment, Beckett was starting to click;
His heater’s mid-nineties, the curve ball has bite,
Let’s mark him down for nine innings a night!

With some new guy in center, A fill-in at short,
A no-name at first, forget run support
But then just like before, Papi let the ball fly,
‘Tek threw out base stealers, hit long drives through the sky,
Lowell had the old stroke back, when he hit ‘em they flew,
They all batted around, Alex Cora too;

I sprang to my feet, to the team gave a whistle,
They circled the bases, Josh threw another missile;
The good times were back for our rebuilt ballclub,

"NO MATTER WHO LEAVES BOSTON, PENNANT FEVER STILL GRIPS HUB"