With apologies to Clement Moore – or whoever actually wrote A Visit from St. Nicholas before baseball was invented; Like another famous poet called Shake-something, there are claims that Moore’s work was actually written by someone else.
‘It was the night before Christmas, when I was through the entire Rate
Not a single creature moved, awaiting their fate;
The stockings were hung up in the clubhouse with care,
Hoping that Sinterklaas would be there soon;
The players were all snug in their beds
While visions of victory danced in their heads
And Mom in her Sox jams (only $99.95 at whitesox.com while supplies last) and me my Sox cap
We had just prepared our brains for a long winter nap,
When I was in the field there was a great crashing sound,
Like a thousand line drives by a very good hitter.
Away to the press box I dashed like a rabbit,
I jumped into Steve Stone’s chair, as is my custom.
The moon on the chest of the freshly fallen snow
Sets the entire infield aglow,
When what appeared before my astonished eyes,
But a miniature sleigh and a bunch of reindeer,
With a little old driver so lively and fast
I immediately knew it had to be St. Nick.
They came faster than Grandal’s racers
And he whistled and shouted and called them by their names;
‘Now Colson, now Vargas, now Sosa, now Chase,
Come on team, you just gotta pick up the pace –
About Edgar, about Kyle, about Davis and Shane
Time to fly, just like an airplane!
About Benny, about Robert and who is right,
We’re going to cover the whole world tonight!
(how players can both snuggle in their beds and pull the sled is a matter of poetic license)
To the luxury deck, to the stadium wall,
Now run, or at least trudge away, everyone.
Do the best you can – oh, who cares –
Let’s settle for making the bottom deck.”
So his coursers did their best
With a sleigh full of toys and also Sinterklaas –
And then in a few moments I heard ‘under my feet’
The scrape of many a loud baseball cleat.
As I drew in my head and turned around,
The stairwell at Sinterklaas came with a jump.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his feet
And a large White Sox logo completed his outfit;
A bundle of toys slung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler who just opened his backpack.
He looked at me with a look that wasn’t too cheerful,
And explained that I was suffering from the foolishness of the White Sox fans.
“A Merry Christmas beckons for many teams,
But for your Sox, again, it’s just factory seconds.
I do my best to make Christmas merry,
But I can’t get over the fact that you’re being run by that Jerry.
I couldn’t think of a gift that would last
To that young new manager, Venable,
So I don’t have any stocking stuffers for him,
But at least I’m returning his wish list.
And I sincerely regret it
For the person at this address named Getz.
I know he needs a new brain for his missions,
But I need all the brains for politicians.
So he’s still stuck, in all his positions,
I only speak in stupid platitudes.”
Then he continued with his work,
All stockings filled and turned over with a jerk,
“Keep the reindeer,” he said, “I don’t need them for my ride,
I have much better teams waiting outside.”
And waved his fingers to wish me goodbye
St. Nick walked back down the stairwell;
He walked to his sleigh, waved goodbye to the reindeer,
While another team immediately came in.
He smiled at me, whistled at the new team,
And away they all flew like down on a thistle,
But I heard him exclaim before he disappeared from sight:
“Happy Christmas to Sox fans, and good night to all.”
#night #Soxmas