bellyitcher

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the park
Not a creature was stirring, even tho’ we have Mark;
The stockings were hung by the lockers with care,
In hopes that St. Abner soon would be there;

The players were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of base hits danced in their heads;
And Fredbird in his foam head, and I in my cap,
Were hoping and praying we didn’t get a bench full of crap,

When out on the field there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the office to see what was the matter.
Away to the dugout I flew like a flash,
I feared that Matty had found an old stash.

The moon on the crest of the newly raked mound
Reminded me to not count on Ankiel’s rebound,
When, out from right field what should appear,
But the bullpen cart fully loaded with beer,

With a dyed-haired driver you couldn’t help but like,
I knew in a moment that it must be Ol’ Mike.
And then, as if he were addressing the crowd,
He pointed to his companions, and named them out loud;

"Now, Albert! now, Scott! now, Jimmy and Larry!
On, Chris! on Jeff! on, Jasons and Yadi!
Right into the glove! Over the top of the wall!
Put your cleats on! Get ready for baseball!"

How well I remember those bats that they wield,
And the roar of the stands when they took to the field,
How to rebuild this team I had not a clue,
Could we live up to last year, and the Moon Man, too?

And then, in a twinkling, I had a good thought,
I would just have to be sure that the baseball was caught.
As I turned to the office to look up Zone Ratings
I found that behind me there he was waiting.

He was dressed all in red, from his jacket to shoe,
They didn’t quite match, but that’s the fault of the brew;
He looked at me and said, “You’re in quite a pickle,
The team lost a lot of defensive strength up the middle.”

I looked down at the turf and nodded my head,
“I must do something more than re-sign Eldred!
The outfield is old and the bullpen has holes,
O! How I wish we had the Yankees’ payroll.”

“You know,” he said, looking crazy as Tavarez,
“Things are not always as they appear to be as.”
I sighed and I moaned, thinking of dollars and cents,
We didn’t need hitters, just a solid defense.

I knew that we had enough on-field commanders,
And as for veterans? Heck, we even have Sanders;
We don’t need a star and we don’t want a thug,
And in David we've got that little sparkplug;

I didn’t have much time, must get straight to work,
Else the fans anger and I look like a jerk,
Mike chuckled and said, “You’re not as rich as some clubs,
But please just remember, You Are Not The Cubs;"

He sprang to his cart, and drove off to the pen
Leaving me with a team that I think could win.
And I heard him exclaim, as he sipped his Bud Lite,
"MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!"