All the little boy was going to ask Santa for was his father to come back from Iraq. Little did he know, his wish would come true and his father was right behind Santa.
Not sports related, but I couldn’t help it. Insta-reblog.
‘Twas the Night Before Christmas
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Nation,
Not a rumor was stirring, still a state of trepidation;
Red Stockings were hung out to dry another year,
The hope is Bobby V eradicates ‘chicken and beer’
Theo Epstein was nestled all smug in his bed,
His Craw-Lackey deals nearly left us for dead;
And Werner in his ascot, and John thinking cap,
Stealing rights to Rudolph, after not paying Pap
When out on the web there arose such a clatter,
Did Ben get a closer? Is there a tweet on the matter?
Away to Fenway we flew in a dash,
Tore open the laptop, camera ready to flash
Who’s breaking the story? Is the source in the know?
Is it Madson’s big payday? Did the Sox spend some dough?
When, what to our wondering eyes should appear,
But our old friend Manny, with a smile ear-to-ear
For just $1 million, and no more of his schtick
We knew in a moment, it was Lucchino’s latest trick
More rapid than building the park called JetBlue,
Bobby whistled, and shouted, knowing clearly who’s who
“Now Dauber! now, D-Lowe! now, Nomar and Nixon!
On, Pedro! El Guapo! on, Sanchez and Damon!”
Bobby knows his Red Sox through and through
But he hasn’t been in Baseball since 2002
‘Greatest Team Ever,’ Herald headlines won’t say
They’re just hoping not to repeat Team Disarray fade away
But maybe God has different plans, A-Gon will tell all
Carl may learn how to hit, or at least return Bobby’s call
And then, in a twinkling, he strolled to the mound,
The prancing and pawing of this tough talking hound,
He turned into his windup, beer belly twisting around,
Down toward home plate, the ball took off with a bound;
He spoke only to Bobby, then just put in his work,
Sure he dropped a few pounds, but still acts like a jerk,
His eyes—how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!
After a few beers in the dugout—his nose like a cherry!
He threw like the old Beckett, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment, Lone Star had the old kick;
His heater’s mid-nineties, the curve ball has bite,
Mark him down for a win every fifth night!
And Lester and Buchholz look fit, trim, and healthy
Lackey’s chillin’ at home, but he’s so freakin’ wealthy
Dustin showed up real early, Youk looks ready to play
But ‘Tek and Tim Wakefield have long since gone away
Ells keeps getting better, before he says his goodbye
Gonzo feels more at home, but he’s still pretty shy
Papi had the old stroke back, when he hit ‘em they flew,
They all batted around, the unnamed rightfielder, too!
The crowd sprang to their feet, to the team gave a whistle,
Salty circled the bases, Bard threw another missile;
A new year is upon us and the Olde Towne ballclub,
“No more fat, drunk, and lazy! PENNANT FEVER GRIPS HUB!”
(source: http://bostondirtdogs.boston.com/2011/12/twas_the_night_before_christma_6.html_)
