‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the clubhouse
Not a player was stirring, not even a mouse;
The pennants were hung in left field with care,
In hopes that another World Series soon would be there;

The players were nestled all snug in their homes,
While visions of being the next player to have their very own garden gnome;
And Fred in his ‘kerchief, and Jeff in his cap,
Counted their pennises after a postseason streak was snapped,

When out on the field there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the concourse to see if there was a batter.
Away to the my seat I flew like a flash,
Opened up my scorebook and awaited a great clash.

The moon on the breast of the re-sodded field
Gave the lustre of outfield lights to bases below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should coming this way,
But a bullpen cart carrying Mickey Callaway,

With a an effervescent young man, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be the new skip.
More rapid than fastballs his pitchers do flame,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

“Now, HARVEY! now, JAKE! now, MATZ and FLEXEN!
On, THOR! on LUGO! on, WHEELER and GSELLMAN!
To the top of the mound! fire that ball!
Strike ’em out! strike ’em out! strike ’em out all!”

As dry leaves that before the curve balls fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, dropping from the sky,
So up the dugout steps the hurlers they knew,
With powerful arms, the count would soon be 0-2.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard in the stands
The rhythmic clapping of each set of hands
As I drew up my hands, waiting for something profound,
Up the dugout steps Callaway came to the mound.

He was dressed all in blue and orange, from his cap to his cleat,
And his beard was well groomed and really quite neat;
A bundle of arms he had awaiting on in the pen;
And he looked like a old pro just handling his men.

His eyes — how they twinkled! his smile quite charming!
His cheeks were like roses, his expression disarming!
His droll little mouth was drawn up as if to say something profound,
A man so handsome SNY just felt the need to expound;

A decision to be made, he bit his lip with his teeth,
 As the fans encircled him and his players like a wreath;
He had a blue windbreaker drapped over his belly,
That shook, when a plane flew over, like a bowlful of jelly.

He was slender and earnest, a whole injured team on the shelf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave the fans to know there was nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And motioned to the bullpen; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, out of the bullpen the closer arose;

He sprang to his dugout, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew around the field like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, with Mets victory in sight,
HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!