‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the GuRF
the Bossards were watering next season’s turf.
The bats were all hung on the bat racks with care,
in hopes that some base hits soon they would snare.
The coaches were nestled all snug in their beds,
as visions of adequacy danced in their heads;
And Kenny in his kerchief and Rick in his cap,
had just settled their brains for a long winter’s nap,
When out by third base there arose such a clatter,
they sprang from their snooze, hoping “pitcher,” or “batter.”
Away to the press box they flew like a flash,
tore open the shutters, and reached for some cash.
The moon on the crest of a shiny first base
gave a luster of midday all over the place.
When what to their wondrous eyes did they see,
but a whole bunch of players in a big SUV.
With a little old driver, so gruesome and scary,
they knew in a moment it must be St. Jerry.
More rapid than four-seamers the big gas-hog came,
and he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
“Now Yoan, now José, now Timmy, Eloy
now Lucas and ReyLo and Dylan, enjoy!
I’ve brought some new teammates to help pull the sleigh,
Even though it meant giving some money away.
Meet Yasmani and Dallas and Gio and Nomar,
two goodies, a maybe and one who won’t go far.
And see, way down there, in the backs of my sacks,
stuffed until late spring, ’cause our leadership lacks,
are Luis and Nick (not the saint, but close to it),
to grab more control, ’cause that’s how we do it.
To the left-field bleachers, to the right-field wall,
now swing away and, for a change, hit the ball!
And those of you who aren’t batters, but flingers,
try not to give away so many dingers!
As for the times that our team’s in the field,
don’t let your ineptitude be revealed.”
As hanging curves left plate center fly,
when they meet with the bullpen, mount to the sky;
so to the scoreboard the SUV flew,
with the sleigh full of players and St. Jerry, too.
And then, in a twinkling, they heard on the P-A,
the leader exhorting them all to go play.
As KenRick drew in their heads and were turning around,
through the luxury boxes, he came with a bound.
He said, “I knew that that man could no longer ignore us,”
and they knew right away he must mean Scott Boras.
And seven years is enough of a terrible team,
so I got you some help, so we can all dream
of a season that will be at least decent,
unlike the seven seasons most recent.
And there’s always an outside chance this team could
actually turn out to be pretty good.”
With a wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
he soon let them know there was nothing to dread:
Even if it’s a failure because of their work,
they’ll still be employed, a full life-long perq.
And laying a finger alongside his cash pile,
up the Dan Ryan, he drove with a smile.
And they heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and taking a walk is all right.”