Twas The Night Before Opening Day

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A poem by my roommate and I:

Twas the night before Opening Day, and all through the Nati, every kid was preparing to wear his red flati. Their jerseys were on, their banners held high, hoping that Jay would let a bomb fly.

They shut their eyes, made not a sound, had visions of Aaron standing high on the mound. Rolen at third, Ramon at the plate, old veteran leaders, hold the key to our fate.

Don’t forget Homer, Bronson, and Coco. Once Aroldis is up, come see a no-no. Fresh out of class, straight to the bigs. The name’s Mike Leake, take some notes, kids.

Arthur Rhodes, Masset, and young Danny Ray. Our bullpen’s quite strong, holds a lead any day. Volquez and Cueto, Dominican dandies! High 90’s cheese balls, sweeter than candy.

Drew in center, Dickerson in left, robbing home runs, most majestic the theft! Orlando to Brandon, two outs with ease, bringing back flashbacks of Larkin and Reese.

Rounding third, and heading for home. Who’s charging the mound? That’s our boy Jonny Gomes! Juan Francisco to bat, looks like a big teddy. Look out in the bleachers, have the fireworks ready!

Here comes the windup, here comes the pitch. Joey at bat, makes the fastball his bitch. And old faithful Dusty, sits on his stoop. Toothpick in mouth, he leads our young troops.

Great American Ball Park, where legends are made. Down by the river, the boys in red play. In Walt we trust, not the one who drew Mickey. But we’ll win the World Series, then we’ll all go to Disney.

Oh what a day, we're the Big Red Machine. Seats full of red, a Nati fan's dream. And I in my cap, and Pa with his glove, sit back and enjoy, the team that we love.

Bob and his boys, they always deliver. Please boat with caution, bombs rain in the river. Lest we forget, grey on his head, Marty B in the booth, this one belongs to the Reds.