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A 2020 Christmas Poem

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  • A 2020 Christmas Poem

    It's that time again. The night before Christmas and it almost got away without a variation on C. C. Moore's "A Visit from St. Nicholas." Happy Christmas and New Year to all of us as we look toward next year. May Tony serve us well.

    ‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the league
    Not a game was in progress in either big league.
    The bats were all stacked and snug in the dark
    In hopes that some baseball might play in that park.

    The ballplayers were nestled all snug in their homes
    With visions of Purell that bubbles and foams.
    And she with her hand wipes and I with my mask
    Had yet to relax with more questions to ask.

    When then on the web came alerts with such speed,
    That I opened a web page to pay them some heed.
    Away to the mouse-pad my fingers did smash,
    Scrolled down through the pages and cleared out the cache.

    The screen on my desk with its image aglow
    Gave a luster of blue to my glasses below.
    When what to my wondering eyes should I see
    But Rick Hahn there on Zoom and now speaking to me.

    With a little old laptop so dim as I clicked,
    I knew in a moment what I could predict.
    More rapid than bat speed, he called them by name,
    And he spoke of the changes to come in our game:

    “Out Ricky, out Cooper, out Capra they flew;
    In Katz, and in Cairo. What’s old is now new!
    To the top of the league, just like we were used-ta,
    Out front we’ll have Hall-of-Fame Tony LaRussa!”

    As stunned looks before the conference calls fly,
    When they meet with some news that demands a reply.
    So to the front office the questions they flew,
    With a skeptical gaze and some sarcasm too.

    And then in a twinkling we saw on the screen
    Tony LaRussa, now wizened and lean.
    As they drew out their questions he turned them around
    And answered each one like he’d never left town.

    He was dressed set to go to a meeting, I’d say,
    With the players who were not even born in his day.
    His droll little mouth always stayed tightly drawn,
    As if telling those kids to get off of his lawn.

    His eyes never twinkled, his voice never faltered,
    His approach to the game was not to be altered.
    Rick Hahn was prepared to give him what he needs,
    Whether coaches, a bullpen, or rosary beads.

    He was older but stable, much like his old self,
    And I shook my head slowly, in spite of myself.
    A crease of a smile and a nod of his head
    Soon gave me to hope I had little to dread.

    Hahn spoke a few words and went straight to his work,
    Calling the GMs with whom he would lurk.
    And laying his finger while making a note,
    And making a call after clearing his throat.

    He rose from his seat, said the Sox are not beaten;
    Why, he’d even brought back a right fielder, Eaton!
    And I heard him exclaim as he went down the hall,
    “Let’s get back to Cuba! I’m making the call!”
    Last edited by tebman; 12-25-2020, 09:40 AM.
    - tebman

  • #2
    AWESOME! You nailed it as usual.
    Riding Shotgun on the Sox Bandwagon since before there was an Internet...



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    • #3
      Great work!

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      • #4
        I love it, as usual! Good stuff.

        May your grievances be few, and may your strength be mighty!

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        • #5
          I'm extremely late to this thread, but I wanted to give props to my good friend, Tom. Yet another job well-done, my friend! I wish I could write poetry half as well as you do.
          The 2005 World Champion White Sox: Thanks for a lifetime of memories.

          2019 Record: 5-6 Next Game: Who knows?!


          🌴Isummer!🌴

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          • #6
            Welcome back, CSG!

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