As the media and members of the baseball world salivated over the release of the Mitchell Report, it was reminiscent of kids at Christmas waiting for Santa. So to that we, the Babes Who Love Baseball, bring you:'Twas a Night in December
by Sarah, Sooze, Melissa, and Lizzy
'Twas a night in December,
When all through the league,
Anticipating the report
Had brought much fatigue.
The reporters were waiting
With pens in the air,
In hopes that St. Mitchell
Soon would be there.
[Editor's note: click on St. Mitchell above to see our gift to you]
The media was nestled all smug in their row,
With visions of pages wrapped up in a bow.
Buster in his 'kerchief, and Bud in his cap,
Had just settled down for three hours of crap.
When out in the press room, there arose such a clatter,
Oh, it's just Canseco... he doesn't really matter.
Away with the printout Gammons flew like a flash,
Scanned through the names listed and started to bash.
The spotlight on the face of the Mitchell we know,
Gave the lustre to the ticker of juicers named below.
When, what to our wondering eyes should appear,
But a list of the ones who bought "cream" and "the clear".
With the testimony of tattletales, so dumb and so thick,
We knew in a moment this wasn't a trick.
More rapid than eagles his pages they came,
And he paused and he waited, then called them by name.
Now Barry, now Roger, now Damon and Pettite,
On Rocker, on Randolph, Lo Duca and Bennett.
To the top of the order! To the bottom of the 'pen!
All kinds of names- hey, McGwire's outed... again.
As we drew in our breaths before turning around,
We thought of the cheaters St. Mitchell had found.
Clemens' face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he pitched like a bowlful of jelly.
Bonds, chubby and plump, a big lying old crank,
Whose drug use helped give him more homers than Hank.
Sheffield and Giambi, reputations as dicks,
Were both near the top of the Roid Report's picks.
Mo Vaughn's giant head shoulda' made it clear,
He wasn't too scared to stick needles in his rear.
And then there's Tejada, every little leaguers' fave,
Whose tarnished reputation may not be saved.
As Gagne listened, goggles fogged up with tears,
Wondered if it was worth juicing all these years.
Emails were quoted from GMs to scouts,
Asking questions about players they had doubts.
From Knoblach to Stanton, and Herges and Nook,
Red-faced Pujols stats were a fluke.
Of course we have Lo Duca, with eyebrows so thick,
And into his ass, a juiced needle he did stick!
Anderson's name, while he didn't tattle,
Was used all throughout to make cages rattle.
As St. Mitchell finished his revealing of names,
We wondered on the future of these baseball games.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"This is not the end! We'll continue to fight!"
P.S. Go Elf Yourself.
For another version, check out the hilarious post at Deuce of Davenport
