'twas the night before Christmas, and all through Coors Field...

‘twas the night before Christmas, and all through Coors Field,

Not a creature was stirring, not even... uh, Thomas Field.

The purple pinstripes were hung in the clubhouse with care,

In the hopes that St. More-Pitching soon would be there.

The players were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of rotation help danced in their heads,

And papa Bridich in his ‘kerchief, and Dick M. in his cap,

Had just settled their brains for a long Hot Stove nap.

When out near the mound there arose such a clatter,

Jon Gray sprang from his bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the Party Deck, he flew like a flash,

Pushed aside the snobby microbrews and threw out the hash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,

Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below.

When what to Jon's wondering eyes should appear,

But a man on the mound, throwing strikes with no fear!

With a smooth leg kick and an arm full of slack,

Jon knew in a moment, it must be St. Zack!

More rapid than eagles his fastballs they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and pitched his game!

"Now Dodgers! Now Giants! Now Padres, and Rox!

On Rays, on Yankees, on Royals and Red Sox!

To the top of the Party Deck, to the top of the outfield wall!

Now dash away, dash away, dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.

Up to the Rooftop the team of desert snakes flew,

With the sleigh full of fastballs, and St. Zack on it, too.

And then in a twinkling, Jon heard on the roof,

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof

As he drew in his head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St. Zack came with a bound!

He was dressed in red and neon, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with fake snake scales and soot.

A bundle of baseballs he had flung on his back,

And he looked like an ace, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! His dimples, how funny!

His cheeks were like roses, his pack full of money!

His mischievous little grin was drawn up like a bow

And his right arm was drawn back, as if ready to throw.

A big wooden bat he held in his left hand,

And as if digging into a batter's box, St. Zack took his stand.

He had a boyish face, and hair like a mop,

That shook when he laughed, perfectly his face it did crop.

He was strong and sinewy, a right jolly old ace,

And Jon laughed when he saw him, for the look on his face!

But a quick wink of his eye, and a simple twist of his wrist,

Let Jon know he was not yet on St. Zack's ace list.

St. Zack spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

Filling the Rockies' stockings, unlike Dick M., the big jerk.

And laying a finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

He sprang to his sleigh, to the Rox gave a smile,

And away did he fly, to run Phoenix for a while.

But Jon heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,

"Happy Greink-mas to all, and to all a good-night!"

*****

Adapted from "A Visit from St. Nicholas" by Clement Clarke Moore