....Not a creature was stirring, 'cept the click of GoET's mouse.
The pennants were hung by the monitor with care,
in hopes that postseason soon would be there.
The LSB minions, passed out in their beds,
while visions of Profar danced in their heads.
And Adam in his kerchief and Ben in his cap,
had just settled down for a spring training nap.
When out on the lawn, the arose such clatter,
That BHill crapped his pants, he wears diapers, it didn't matter.
Away to the window, Brad flung like the Flash,
While Max just laid back there, it must've been the hash.
The moon on the breast of a new mowed on field,
Gave the luster of PADMY's we never will yield.
When what to KoK's wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature cooper, and eight commeneers.
With a little hairy moderator, so lively and quick,
would soon wield a banhammer with a pic of a dick.
"Now Arson! Now Froman! No Rodney and Ghetto!
On Closure! On Benji! And yes, even you Moe!"
"To the tailgating section, to the back of the wall!
Now post away! Post away! Post away all!"
And then in a twinkling, I read on the net,
a Hamilton signing, we'd all soon forget.
As I drew in my head with a palm to my face,
a shot of a pear, brought forth by BFace.
He was dressed in Ranger red, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes reeked of home brew, and cigars to boot.
A bundle of comments he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, exposing his sack.
His eyes how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!
His grin was like Kinslers! His nose, well yeah, like a cherry!
His droll little mouth reminded me of RangerBlake,
I'm reachin' for rhymes here, people, relax for goodness sake.
The glass of a pilsner he placed near his teeth,
With a ring of some foam, Witt's seasonal made a wreath.
He had a broad face and a beer gut, not belly,
that shook when he raged, like the ass of Minka Kelly.
He was crass and sarcastic, a perplexing elf,
That I laughed when I rec'd him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
let one know the ghost of game 6 soon would be dead.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
community projections, an OT, and a .gif of Miley's twerk.
And laying his finger up deep in his nose,
to vacate a booger, up in there, it arose.
He sprang to his Cooper, to his minions gave a whisper,
And away they all logged off, one lister, by lister.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight.......
WHO GIVES A SHIT WHAT HE SAID, OPENING DAY IS TOMORROW NIGHT!!!!!
Happy Opening Day Eve, LSB.
Samuel L. Bronkowitz, formerly known as IrishP1