T’was the night before Tribesmas, when all through the Jake,
Not a gull was stirring, still snow from the Lake.
The bases were set on the diamond with care,
In hopes that the Indians would soon be there.
The fans were nestled; all snug in their beds,
While sounds of Tom Hamilton danced in their heads.
#IndiansTwitter at the ready, @sportsyelling in all caps,
About to awake from a long winter’s nap.
When out from the dugout arose such a clatter,
Cleveland sprang to the Jake to see what was the matter.
Away to the bleachers we flew like a flash,
To see our boys take the field with a dash.
The clouds of chalk on the finely combed dirt,
So long without baseball, it actually hurt.
When, what to my wondering eyes should I see,
But Tito Francona and the rest of the team!
With a spectacled manager, a gaze with no fear,
I knew in that moment it might be our year.
And he chewed, and shouted, and call’d them by name:
"Now Swisher! Now Kipnis! Now Carlos and Yan!
On Brantley! On Murphy! On Justin Masterson!
Go Kluber! Go Salazar! Go Carrasco and ZMac!
Fight, Droobs! Fight, Plush! Giambi, give them the Ax!
To the top of the Central! To the top of the League!
Now swing away! Swing away! Show no fatigue!