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'Twas The Night Before Cub Christmas

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An annual affront to Clement Clarke Moore.

'Twas the night before Cub Christmas, and this is the news:
Not a person was stirring, not even Pat Hughes.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Sts. Theo & Jed soon would be there.

Tom Ricketts was nestled all snug in his bed,
Visions of World Series titles danced in his head.
Arrieta with his Cy Young tucked under his cap,
Had just settled on down for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the field there arose such a clatter,
I ran into the ballpark to see what was the matter.
Up to the bleachers I flew like a flash,
The view was amazing -- that's no balderdash.

The video boards shining down on the ball field below
Gave info -- no Kiss Cam -- that's silly, you know.
Then, what should appear, as if in a dream:
A blue-and-white sleigh carrying a baseball team!

With a magical sleigh driver, so sure to gladden,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Maddon.
Swifter than Rondon's fastball the players they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now, Bryant! Now, Rizzo!
Now, Addy and Javy!
On, Jorge! On, Schwarber!
On Coghlan and Miggy!
Hit those balls strong!
Hit 'em over the wall!
We'll play 'em all hard
And someday win it all!"

The brown leaves that fall from the ivy walls die,
When they start to grow, Strop's slider will fly.
Wrigley's stripped steel now looks like a fright,
But it will all be pretty on Opening Night.

And then, in a twinkling, I saw two intent faces
Planning, they were, on future pennant races.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Onto the field Jed & Theo came, with two bounds.

They were all dressed in chinos and polo shirts,
And they brought some who'll play on the Wrigley Field dirt.
A bundle of players they had flung on the roster,
In hopes that none of them would be an impostor.

"I brought you John Lackey," Theo said with a smile.
"And Zobrist and Heyward, who will play with style."
"I have here Rex Brothers, whose left hand can throw!"
Will Carl Edwards be great? We do not yet know.

Will Warren and Patton turn into good Cubs?
Or will they forever be known just as scrubs?
Vogelbach and Contreras: what will they become?
Will they turn into good hitters? Or just two more bums?

Jon Lester did make a twist of his head,
To first base he threw... and filled us with dread.
Joe served up more drinks, a right jolly old elf,
He'll bring us a trophy, I said to myself.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Put the pitcher eighth in the lineup, his usual quirk
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
(That's a signal, you know) -- to the scoreboard he rose!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
To Sloan Park in Mesa all flew like a missile.
And I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Cub Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"