'Twas the Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas, where somewhere with a smile,
Rocket’s lawyer was crafting the latest flimsy denial;
While lots of players were hung by Mitchell’s Report this year,
It was the name of Clemens that confirmed our greatest fear;

Barry Bonds was still nestled all snug in his bed,
He’s not alone anymore, but his phony home run record is dead
He was named again, on The List, in the big steroids flap;
And long gone are his dreams of a Hall of Fame cap …

When suddenly out on the ‘Net there arose such a clatter,
“Santana Deal Done!”… But was it Ellsbury or Lester?
We tuned to NESN-HD, Sox press conference in a flash,
We saw Werner and Henry, and Theo’s big bag of cash;
Theo stood up to speak, the old Dr. Charles show,
Was this Santana's big payday? Did the Sox fork over the dough?;

Epstein stood up to speak, “Baby Jack says hi!”
But were the reports true Theo? Did Jacoby say goodbye?;
Who else hit the road? Is Clay part of this deal?
Did we outbid the Yankees?, This all seems unreal;

When, what to our wondering eyes should appear
But the face of Santana, signed for $10 million per year!
We gave a mid-level prospect, that’s the whole deal,
Johan’s in the rotation, the deal was a steal

And then back at the gates of the new Hall of Shame
Mitchell whistled, and shouted, and called all the names:

"Now, Bigbie! now, Knoblauch! now, Giambi and Gagne!
On, Sheffield! Tejada! on, Roger and Andy!
To the top of the list! Let the fans make the call!
You took steroids, I know it! Asterisk for you all!"

Yankees titles now stand at 22 not 26*,
And Hank Aaron sleeps easy now knowing 755 still sticks
Clemens won just 197, according to Schill,
And Duquette was right on, Roger was over the hill

Yet Mitchell Players keep signing, contract prices still high,
Rocket clings to his numbers, he’ll still tell the big lie,
And it's back to the game, "just forgive and forget,"
By June "it never happened," on that you can bet.

So now we have a prez of the “official” Red Sox Nation,
Or a trick to give cash to Lucchino's slick operation
And pay $250.00 for "citizenship," with no ticket at all,
Just “an opportunity” to buy a bleacher seat on top of a Wall

Back down in Ft. Myers, he walked to the mound,
The prancing and pawing of this new throwing hound,
Laying his finger aside of the seam,
He stares just like Pedro, an impossible dream?

He spoke Spanish words, and 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 toward home plate, the ball took off with a bound;

A lefthanded Petey, so lively and quick,
Hitters down in a moment, his balls miss their sticks;
His heater’s mid-nineties, curve ball has big bite,
Let’s mark Johan down for a win every night!

And there stood Curt Schilling, looking incredibly slim
About time the blog king found his way to the gym
Even Manny came early and is ready to play
He was lousy last year, but got paid big anyway

Then up went the Flag, the Sox called out by name
Putting rings on their fingers at the Opening Day game
Now Jacoby’s in center, a brand new Drew in right,
Pedroia and Youk, more bark and more bite

And then just like before, Papi swung for the sky,
Manny's ball found the Pike, ‘Tek hit hard line drives,
Lowell had the old stroke back, when he hit ‘em they flew,
They all batted around, Julio Lugo too;

The crowd sprang to their feet, to the team gave a whistle,
Coco circled the bases, Beckett threw another missile;
A new year is upon us and our favorite ballclub

"LET’S GO BACK-TO-BACK! MORE PENNANT FEVER GRIPS HUB"

...with apologies to Clement Clarke Moore or Henry Livingston, Jr.
Merry Holidays, Boston Dirt Dogs