Twas the night before Christmas, when all through Seattle
Not a creature did stir, nor squeak, nor rattle
The seats were placed 'round the diamond with care,
In hopes that a playoff berth soon would be theirs.
The fans were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of championships danced in their heads.
This year, the team really closed up the gap
And they wanted some upgrades 'neath the Mariners' caps.
An arm would be nice, as would a good batter
The postseason couldn’t be reached sans the latter.
Consensus was that the M’s should make a splash
The sole question was, does the team have the cash?
The team surely wants to win badly too, so
Seattle didn’t embrace the old status quo.
The M’s are for real, of that have no fear
And the club wants that message to ring loud and clear.
The team has improved, incredibly quick
Fans circled around Jack Zduriencik
More rapid than eagles his players they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now, Felix! Now, Ryan! Now, David and Ken!
On, Jack! On, Jose! On, Ich-Ro and Franklin!
Meet Chone, who’s always on top of the ball!
And Cliff—the best number-two starter of all!"
And then, overhead, a flock of crows did fly,
As there rung out a not-so-distant cry.
There was one more player who to the team was new
He’d just come from Chi-Town and wanted love too.
He approached the scene looking somewhat aloof
His eye was blackened, and he was missing a tooth.
A note read, “Here he is, maybe he will rebound,
Good luck to you, suckers! (insert laughing sound)”
The fans stood and cheered, twas excitement afoot,
Then he opened his mouth and it all went kaput.
“How could you forget me?” he called out to Jack,
“Wait, I already know, it’s because I’m black.”
Jack saw that the scene was fast growing hairy
He said, “Come sit down, let me bring you some sherry.”
He scoffed and scowled and yelled back “Hell no!
This place is even worse than Chicago.”
He spit some tobacco out from 'tween his teeth,
A sludge pool appeared on the ground at his feet
He said ‘twas too negative for him to excel; he
Turned to Wakamatsu and said, “Boy, you’re smelly.”
He glanced at Ichiro and muttered to himself,
“I’d better not lose any playing time to this elf.”
“So he’s feeling lukewarm,” Jack soothingly said,
“But I’m sure we’ll love him in the season ahead.
Soon we’ll come to adore his quirks.”
Meanwhile, Bradley was leaving and calling fans jerks.
“I’m outta here, this town really blows.”
Then he trailed off—what he said, no one knows.
One fan called out, “Hey, Milton, good luck!”
Bradley turned and yelled back “I don’t give a right @%.”
All the while, Jim Hendry squealed with delight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"
If you liked this Milton Bradley poem, you may also like http://bleacherreport.com/articles/248205-bradley-at-the-bat .
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