'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the league

 

All the agents were stirring, fans struck with intrigue,

 

Texeira had signed, gold glove in his bag,

 

Another player the Yankees had snagged,

 

The GMs were nestled all snug in their beds,

 

While visions of Man-Ram had danced in their heads;

 

And Lowe and his sinker, and Dunn in his cap,

 

Had just started dealing 'fore a long winter's nap,

 

When out on the league there arose such a clatter,

 

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

 

Away to the computer I flew like a flash,

 

Turned on the PC hoping it would not crash.

 

The RSS Feed on the ticker did scroll

 

Giving fans of all teams a hope in their soul,

 

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

 

But a midseason split, breaking down a career,

 

With little old numbers, though so lively and quick,

 

I knew in a moment it must be SABR Nick.

 

More accurate than arrows his predictions they came,

 

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

 

"Now, Angels! now, Red Sox! now, Dodgers and Yankees!

 

On, Cardinals! on, Cubbies! on, White Sox and Phillies!

 

To the top of the playoffs! trophies on your walls!

 

Now sign away! sign away! sign away all!"

 

As agents turn up that before the free agent storm try,

 

When they meet with an obstacle, set the bid on up high,

 

So up to the meetings the owners they flew,

 

With the disk full of stats, and SABR Nicholas too.

 

And then, in a twinkling, I heard from the disk's coding

 

The buzzing and clicking of each stat loading.

 

As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,

 

Down the ethernet cable SABR Nicholas came with a bound.

 

He was dressed all in numbers, data from his head for these guys;

 

And his stats were not tarnished with bias or eyes;

 

A bundle of peripherals he had flung on his back,

 

And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

 

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!

 

He spoke of percentages, "Of batting average, be wary!"

 

His droll little mouth spoke of those who would throw,

 

And then he would warn of what they'd be owed;

 

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

 

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;

 

His words were ignored by scouts who thought they were smelly,

 

The room shook, when he laughed, "They'd sign Miceli!".

 

He was chubby and plump, he was sure of himself,

 

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

 

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

 

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

 

He spoke no more words, but went straight to his work,

 

And filled all the stockings; and called Plaschke a jerk,

 

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

 

And giving a nod, up the cable he rose;

 

He sprang to his computer, to his team gave a whistle,

 

And away they all loaded giving Joe Morgan a dismissal.

 

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

 

"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."

:notworthy

:arms

Damn! Thats some poetical stuff right there man lol nice job!

two words

 

GOOD STUFF

haha, well done.