06/05/2026
One more sleep til Christmas in June!! Come out this weekend and experience all the Griswold and baseball magic!
’Twas the night before baseball, in the warm
June heat,
Not a player was stirring, despite cleats on their feet.
The bats were all lined by the dugout with care,
In hopes that big victories soon would be there.
The players were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of home runs danced in their heads.
With coaches reviewing their lineups once more,
Preparing for games and the cheers that would roar.
When out on the field there arose such a sound,
I sprang from my bed and looked all around.
Away to the window I flew in a flash,
Expecting perhaps a foul ball or a big base path crash.
The moon on the outfield grass freshly mowed
Gave the diamond a bright, festive glow.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a golf cart decked out as Santa’s reindeer!
With a driver so jolly and lively to see,
I knew in a moment that Santa must be.
More rapid than fastballs his helpers they came,
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
“Now Slider! Now Fastball! Now Curveball and Stealer!
On Catcher! On Shortstop! On Pitcher and Dealer!
To the top of the bleachers! Across every wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”
As players before a strong line drive fly,
When they meet with an outfielder reaching up high,
So up to the clubhouse the reindeer they flew,
With a sleigh full of baseballs and new batting gloves too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
The clatter and shuffle of each little hoof.
As I turned toward the doorway and was looking around,
Down the dugout steps Santa came with a bound.
He was dressed not in velvet for wintertime weather,
But in red baseball pinstripes from cap down to leather.
A bat over his shoulder he carried with pride,
And a sack full of prizes was slung at his side.
His eyes—how they twinkled! His smile—how merry!
His cheeks were sun-kissed like a July cherry.
He spoke not a word but went straight to his task,
Leaving gifts in each locker, then tightening his mask.
He left tournament medals, new jerseys to wear,
And reminders of teamwork and sportsmanship fair.
Then laying a finger aside of his nose,
Back up through the dugout he quietly rose.
He sprang to his golf cart, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all drove like a line-drive missile.
But I heard him exclaim as he sped out of sight,
“Happy Christmas in June, and good luck tomorrow night!
May your swings all be mighty, your fielding first-rate,
And may memories made here truly be great!”