‘Twas the Night Before Cubsmas (A Semi-Original Poem)

‘Twas the night before Cubsmas, you know about that,

Not a creature was stirring, not e’en the giant rats;

Stirrups were hung in the clubhouse with care,

In hopes that the season soon would be there;

The prospects were snuggled on various lists

With visions of coffee mugs held in their fists;

And I with my labor of love never slog,

When I’m cov’ring my team in this little web log;

When elsewhere in Cubdom the news hit on Twitter,

The Cubs had an ace, were in search of a hitter;

Out to the bleachers, I flew like a dart,

An easier task when they’re not torn apart;

The LED lights from the jumbotron’s glow,

Cast ‘lectronic lustre on dead ivy below;

When what to my rose-colored eyes did appear,

But a miniature sleigh filled with pricey craft beer;

With two little drivers it needn’t be said,

I knew in a moment Saints Theo and Jed;

More rapid than fastballs the players they came,

They drafted, and traded, and signed them by name;

“Now, Bryant! Now, Baez! Now Schwarber and Morrow!

On, Chatwood! On, Cishek! On, Russell and Rizzo!

To the top of the basket! The top of the wall!

Now mash away! Mash away! Mash away, all!

As gulls that within the cool lake breeze do fly,

When they meet with an outfielder, mount to the sky;

So up to the rooftops the Cubbies they flew,

With a sleigh full of beer, and Saints Epstoyer too;

And then, in an instant, I heard from my seat,

The stomping and scratching of each little cleat;

As I sipped my brew and was looking around,

Up the ivy Saints Epstoyer came with a bound;

They were attired quite nattily, suits are a must,

But their clothes were not tarnished by dirt or chalk dust;

Bundles of toys they had flung on their backs,

And they looked like execs when they opened their packs;

Kris Bryant–how he sparkled! His eyes, oh how blue!

And Addison Russell was there with him too!

And Jose Quintana getting ready to toss,

If he’s this good in May, we’ll have nary a loss;

While everyone spoke, Saint Jed his lip bit,

Though I could tell in his mind, he was spanking it;

Then Willson Contreras, all youthful and stout,

Took a look at the runner before throwing him out;

‘Twas a scene from a movie, like Die Hard or Elf,

And I smiled when I saw it, in spite of myself;

But a wink from Epstoyer, twin nods of their heads,

Soon let me know to let go of my dreads;

They spoke not a word, but went back to their work,

Making each naysayer look like a jerk;

They landed their players again and again,

Till finally earning that World Series win;

They sprang to their sleigh, to their team gave a whistle,

And away they flew, like a batted-ball missile;

But I heard them exclaim, I swear I did, bro,

“Take me out to the ballgame, and go, Cubs, go!”

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