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With all apologies to the estate of Clement Moore.

Merry Gibson to all, and to all a good night.
Merry Gibson to all, and to all a good night.

Twas the night before Gibson, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even Clete Thomas.
The jock straps were hung by the clubbies with care,
In hopes that Kyle Gibson soon would be there.

Andy was nestled all snug in his cot,
Visions of retiring to a time-share or yacht.
Terry Ryan in his office, and Gardy in his cap,
Had just settled their brains for a long Friday nap.

When out on the Plaza there arose such a clatter,
They sprang from the clubhouse to see what was the matter.
Away to the gates they flew like a flash,
Hurdling old beer cups and cigarette ash.

The moon on the breast of my guy Ron Coomer
Gave the lustre of mid-day, ‘tis fact and not rumor.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But an airport shuttle, ever so near.

With a long-awaited prospect, pitches lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be K-Gib.
More rapid than eagles his predecessors came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Manship! now, Mulvey! now, Armando Gabino!
On, Waldrop! On, Humber! On, on Juan Morillo!
O'er the top of the porch! O'er the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the roofdeck the pitchers they flew,
With the sleigh full of missed bats, and Kyle Gibson too.

And then, in a twinkling, the men heard from the street
The prancing and pawing of each dirty cleat.
As they drew in their heads, and were turning around,
Down the stairs Kyle Gibson came with a bound.

He was dressed in his uni, with a smile you could trust,
And his clothes were all tarnished with fresh diamond dust.
A bundle of balls he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

Andy's eyes--how they twinkled! His mustache how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
Terry's droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of Gardy's chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a bat he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
"Sawed off some chump, pitch nasty as hell'y"
Gardy shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.

He was lean and chiseled, a potential staff ace,
But still the men worried, in spite of themselves!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave them to know they had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Did some long-tossing, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, to the roofdeck he rose!

He sprang to his feet, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"I've already had Tommy John, and to all a good-night!"