Twas The Night Before Opening Day

A little early. but as the saying goes, it's five o'clock or nighttime or something somewhere!  With a lack of more important things to do, or well, anything at all to do, here is an adapted version of our favorite Christmas poem. 



Twas the night before Opening day, when all through the club house

Not a creature was stirring, not even Tito's pet mouse.

The bats and gloves were set in the lockers with care,

Knowing that Game Thread 1 would soon be there.

The players were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of grand slams and perfect games danced in their heads.

And Tito in his 'kerchief and Theo in his cap,

Were nearly risen from a long offseason's nap.

The offseason had been long with so much clatter,

Theo had assessed to see what was the matter.

Away to the Winter Meetings he had gone like a flash,

Away to fix the team, with Crawford and Gonzalez, just a dash.

Fenway was finally clear of the fallen snow,

Attendants on the Monster called 'look out below!'

What to my wondering ears should appear,

But the announcing of 'Opening Day is finally here!'

With our little old manager, so composed and merry,

I knew in a moment it must be St. Terry,

More rapid than eagles his players they came,

And he whistled, and shouted and called his players by name!

"Now Pedey! Now Youk! Now Scutaro and Lester!

On Buchholz! On Gonzalez! On, on Crawford and Wheeler!

To the plate! To the top of the wall!

Now hit away, pitch away, play away all!"

As in Spring Training the pitches did fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, they took to the sky.

Up to the Monster they flew,

For homeruns, and wall ball doubles too!

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,

The first foul ball of the season, sounding like a reindeer's hoof.

As I drew in my head and was turning around,

The Ump delivered, new balls abound.

Wally was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

Dirty from tripping, like ashes and soot.

A bundle of homeruns Gonzalez will have on his back,

With a solid chance at leading the pack.

Pedey was here, his eyes-how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!

Youk's cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

What will his beard be this year, no one knows!

A sunflower seed Terry held tight in his teeth,

NESN headphones encircled his head like a wreath.

Reyes had a broad face and a "little" round belly,

That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!

Papelbon was being his jolly old self,

Pulling a beer from upon the top shelf.

A wink of his eye and a twist of the head,

soon that beer was nothing but dead.

Lester spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

Thinking silently in his head how Paps is a jerk.

And putting the ball behind his back,

Sending hopeful thoughts to the next starter, Sir Lack.

Will we win one sixty two? Probably nope,

On the backs of these fine players we can however, always hope.

I heard the groundskeeper say quietly, mainly to himself as he turned on Fenway's light,

"Happy Opening Day to all, and to all a good Opening Night!"

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