Twas the night before Strasmas, and all through DC,
All the GMs were stirring, even George McPhee.
The banners were hung in the Verizon Center in dispare,
In hopes that non-Mystic attendance championships soon would hang there.
The fans wake from nightmares sweating in beds,
While visions of Kwame's are burned in their heads.
And my lady friend in her jersey, and I in my cap,
Finally believe that this city is done with this crap.
When Strasburg was picked, there arose such a clatter,
And maybe next year, the Nat's could pick up a batter.
What do you know, they got someone sharper,
Even Pujols is jealous of a kid named Bryce Harper.
Will the championships come, I say who knows?
But it can't get worse, we've had lower than lows.
Maybe we're due, it's been quite some time,
We've got all these young athletes going into their prime.
There is Strasburg, and Capps, and John Lannan,
There's Harper, and Dunn, and Ryan Zimmerman.
There's Ovechkin, and Backstrom, and Semin and all,
Even the lowly Wizards are getting John Wall.
There's new faces on the Skins that we'll surely like,
With McNabb and Trent Williams lead by Coach Mike.
Maybe they come out this season with a bang,
And the highlight of the year isn't Cooley's wang.
I know better than think that success is on its way,
There's a better chance to catch Santa on his sleigh.
But now there is hope as far as I can see,
And maybe just the traffic will suck in DC.
So before I'm busted, by my boss as he passes,
I wanted to say something to all of you asses,
'The District is coming, so the best of lucks.
Merry Strasmas to all, and Crosby still sucks.'
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