‘Twas the Night Before Opening Day

Every Christmas, the poem “‘Twas the Night Before Christmas,” by Clement Clarke Moore, is always a family favorite.  The tale written in 1823 and published originally in the New York newspaper, The Sentinel.  Since then, it has been circulated throughout the world for millions of families to enjoy.

When it comes to Opening Day, we like to think of it as our Christmas.  It is an event we count down the days until we can celebrate with excitement. This year, we have put our own spin on this classic. Enjoy!

 

‘Twas the Night Before Opening Day

‘Twas the night before Opening Day, when all through Ripken Stadium,

not a player was throwing, not even a hit.

The jerseys were hung in their lockers with care,

In hopes that IronBirds season soon would be there.

 

The fans were all nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of victories danced in their heads.

And Ferrous in his nightshirt and Ripcord in his cap

Had just settled their brains for a summer’s long nap.

 

When out on the field there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the locker room to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore open the door and made a mad dash.

 

The moon on the breast of the freshly mowed grass,

Gave the lustre of midday to objects below

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear

But a miniature coach and nine tiny players.

 

With a little old bat, so lively and quick

I knew in a moment it must be Matt Merullo.

More rapid than eagles, his players they came,

And he whistled and shouted and called them by name:

 

Now Justin! Now Federico!

Now, Alex and Hector!

On Stephen! On Manny!

On, Oswill and Sam!

Now pitch away! Throw away!

Hit away all!

 

And then in a twinkling I heard on the field,

the cracking and popping of each bat and glove.

As I drew in my head and was turning around,

Across the field Matt Merullo came with a bound.
He was dressed all in orange, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were tarnished with grass and dirt.

A bag of balls he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

 

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And threw batting practice, then turned with a jerk.

And laying his finger on the brim of his hat,

And giving a nod, down to the dugout he went.

 

He sprang up the steps, to his team gave a whistle,

And out to their starting positions they flew like a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim before the action began,

 

“Happy Opening Day to all! Go IronBirds Go!”

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