bellyitcher

These are the days when we all come back,
And a few, a bird or two,
To take a backward look.

These are the days when agents put on
The old, old dance for the contract
And weigh a team's chances.

O, season of wild rumors
We have to listen to Boomer
It makes me long for Spring.

Till Winter trades bear March fruit,
And free agents have all their loot
Hurries the bold GM.

Oh, guider of our summer days,
Oh, don't get caught up in the craze,
One unheralded will join,

Thy sacred group and will partake,
Will do more, he will surely rake,
And seize that immortal ring!

-Apologies to Emily Dickinson

And Go Webster!