I must warn you. I am heavily intoxicated for this years instalment so bare with me.
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the hizzy
Not a creature was stirring, not even John Gibbzy.
The pennants were hung by the roof top with care,
In hopes that another one soon would be there.
R.A. Dickey was nestled all snug in his bed,
While visions of knuckleballs danced in his head.
And Beeston in his ‘kerchief, and AA in his cap,
Had just settled their wallets for an off-season fap.
When out on the mound there arose such a clatter,
Gibby sprang from the bench to see what was the matter.
Away to the umpire he flew like a flash,
Challenged him to fight and then kicked his ***.
The moon on the breast of the new-revamped rotation
Made me feel happy and warm, kind of like masturbation
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a GM and eight new players, their debuts soon to be here.
With a crusty old manager, so greasy and thick,
I knew in a moment it must be John Gibbons.
More rapid than his bullpen calls their names they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and challeneged them all to fight
"Now Dickey! now, Johnson! now, Beuhrle and Bonifacio!
On, Reyes! On, Cabrera! on, on Izturis and Thole!
To the top of the standings! to the top of them all!
Now drop the gloves! Man up! And get ready to brawl!"
As open bases that before the wild Reyes flys,
When they meet with an obstacle, Jose Reyes with a slide.
So up to his feet the runner he flew,
With the sleigh full of tools, and a batting title too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the lid
The prancing and pawing of some new hot shot kid.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Alex Anthopolous came with a bound.
He was dressed all in prada, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all awesome because he's Alex Anthopolous.
A bundle of money he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a baller, just counting his stacks.
His eyes-how they twinkled! his signings how merry!
His trades were like roses, popping the Marlins like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the ideas in his head, nobody would know
The stump of a pen he held tight in his hand,
Signing players with hope to go to the promised land.
He had a broad face and a weird choice of apparel,
That reminded me of ****, kind of like John Farrell!
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old fart
And I cringed when I saw him, because he had no heart
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Looking away from this team knowing the Red Sox were ahead
He spoke not a word, and didn't do much work,
And ditched this team, like a really big jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
Look! Alex Anthopolous, to the bank he goes!
He sprang to the teller, to which whom he gave his card,
And away the teller flew bringing back cash by the yard.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Hey John Farrell!, Toronto sure is looking alright!"