I would like to wish a very Merry Christmas, the happiest of holidays and best wishes for the New Year to all of you out there in the blogosphere, readers and writers alike!

So, taking a glance around the blogs, it appears that writing a parody of The Night Before Christmas isn’t exactly the most original idea I’ve ever had…as I probably should have suspected in community of writers, LOL. You all make me smile, a lot. Anyway, here are my lines to add to the chorus:

T’was the night before Christmas, when all through the house,
Only Blithescribe was stirring with laptop and mouse.
The stockings were draped from the bookshelves with care,
Because we don’t have a real chimney, so we hang them there.

In the armchair I nestled, snuggled with pillows and cats,
Perusing MLBlogs for new posts and great stats.
While my husband lay sleeping, on the couch by the tree,
Because really, hands down, he’s much smarter than me.

When outside our house, there arose such a clatter,
That I ran to the door to see what was the matter.
And what did I see on our porch clear as day?
Would you believe it was Santa with reindeer and sleigh?

“Only seven reindeer, Santa? Is one of them late?
I could be mistaken, but I’ve read you use eight.”
“Oh, that. Minor accident in Arkansas, you see.
He’s still on my good list, but no presents for Cliff Lee!”

Shocked and surprised, I invited Santa inside.
“I thought you were a myth. Clearly somebody lied.”
He smiled, “I get that a lot and, yet, I am here.”
“So, cookies and milk? Or can I get you a beer?”

While I got the drinks, Santa skimmed through the blogs,
And my husband remained on the couch sawing logs.
“Hot Stove is insane this year,” Santa said with a smirk.
“On Crawford, on Lee, on Soriano and Werth?

Seven years is too crazy for me to understand.”
So Santa Claus is real and a big baseball fan!
After beer and bourbon, Santa’s a right jolly old elf,
So I poured a glass of Maker’s Mark for myself.

“Thank you,” Santa said, “for the drinks and good rest.
This gets harder every time, I have to confess.
So little girl, what can Santa give you this year?”
That would have sounded dirty were it not meant with good cheer.

“Well you’re a little late Santa” I said, quite bereft.
“I wanted bats for the Angels and Crawford in left.”
“Carl Crawford, you say? Yeah, I’m sorry about him.”
“Santa, say it ain’t so! You gave Crawford to them.”

Santa pulled up his sleeve with a sheepish little grin,
To reveal a B-shaped tattoo, right there on his skin.
“Dustin left us for baseball. I couldn’t help myself.
North Polers stick together. I root for the elf”

That explains everything! Santa’s a Red Sox fan.
Well they do have red stockings and cute toy sized stands.
“Okay, Angels season tickets would simply be heaven.
One pair? Home side field box? Say section 111?”

He had a broad face and a round little belly,
That shook when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly.
“That’s hilarious Blithescribe,” he laughed as he stood.
“Seriously, lady? You think you’ve been that good?”

Instead he gave me books. Fourteen all in a stack,
Two for each week ’til my birthday, just like in years back!
I giggled like a child and clapped my hands with glee.
Books were always the best present underneath the tree.

Then Santa had to leave, with more countries still to go,
I hugged him thank you, as he headed out our door.
And I heard him exclaim as he leapt from our porch,
Merry Christmas to all, only 51 days ’til pitchers and catchers report!