Nationals’ Night before Christmas

Nationals’ Night before Christmas

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house

Not a creature was stirring but Rizz and his mouse.

The contracts were laid on the table with care

With hope that free agents soon would sign there.

The players were nestled all snug in their beds

While visions of Florida danced in their heads.

With Dave in his hoodie and Rizz in his cap

Just settling down for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the field there arose such a clatter

Rizz sprang from his desk to see what was the matter.

Away to the dugout he flew like a flash

Gripped the rail tight, like MASN and cash.

He hadn’t been drinking, yet what does he see‽

A sleigh and eight reindeer, for real! Could it be?

With a little old driver, so lively and quick:

No, not Scott Boras—it must be St. Nick!

More speedy than Turner his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

Now! Mickey, now! Satchel now, Jackie and Joe!

On! Babe Ruth, on! Cy Young, on! Big Train and Moe!

To the top of the dugout, the top of the wall!

Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!

The sleigh lightly landed on Nats’ dugout roof,

And Rizz could hear tapping of each little hoof.

Nick leapt from the sleigh, clear out to the track:

His strength and agility took Mike aback.

His uni was tarnished with brown infield dirt

(He’d slid into home, but he didn’t get hurt).

White whiskers, well groomed; his beard to his chest.

And as for his shape? Well, think of Joe West.

Rizz: “What did you bring me, good red-suited fellow?”

He laughed and he shook like a bowl full of Jell-O.

His smile was so bright that it vanquished the dark.

(Of course there’s no pipe: this is Nationals Park!)

“So what did you have on your Christmas wish list?

I know that I’ve read it: is there something I missed?”

“Please let my rotation stay heathy all year.

I’ve built the best team, I’ve looked far and near.

Please let my catchers hit o’er their weight.

And frame pitches well when they work at the plate.

And please make my bullpen one hitters will fear:

I’ve pulled out my hair trying that every year.

And please give my manager insight and spine

To go to the bullpen at just the right time.”

“Well that’s quite a list, but I’ll do my best.

You’ve got the right players, then Dave does the rest.”

He sprung to his sleigh, gave a tap on his phone,

And away they all flew, at the speed of a drone.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he flew out of sight—

“A good season to all, and to all a good night!”