JUPITER, Fla. • As coaches and officials and players arrived this past week at Roger Dean Stadium, spring home of the St. Louis Cardinals, they greeted each other by their calendar, not the one on the wall.
"Happy New Year," bullpen coach Dyar Miller said this morning.
"Happy New Year."
Even more than opening day, the first day of spring training signals the start of the baseball season for the baseball people. The offseason is over, the previous season long gone, and every team starts over. Hence, New Year. But as clubhouse manager Rip Rowan and his staff set up the clubhouse Friday for Sunday's first official workout day here at Camp Cardinals, it was another holiday that came to mind. There were unopened bags, unwrapped equipment and, of course, jerseys hung by each locker with care.
With deepest apologies to likely author Clement Clarke Moore, here's a sure sign that I had too much time on my hands and too much coffee in my system last night:
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Twas the Night Before Spring Training
‘Twas the night before spring training, when all through the clubhouse
Not a reliever was warming, not even a Motte
The jerseys were hung by their lockers with care,
in hopes that the Cardinals soon would be there.
The baseballs are nestled, all rubbed up with mud,
eager for that whack that smears the signature from Bud.
And Hummel at his keyboard, and I on the blog,
had just sent our stories to beat a deadline slog.
When out on Field 1, there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my chair to see who was the batter.
Away to the field, Chris Lee clutched his flash,
set up his tripod, snapped pics of the mash.
The moon gave him natural light from above,
hanging like a pop fly so impossible to glove.
When, what to my cynical eyes should appear,
but a dented golf cart, eight bats in its rear.
With a regal old driver, a Cards cap on his head,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Red.
As swiftly as Brock, his hitters they came.
And he whistled and shouted and started them by name!
"Now, Puma! Now, Yadi! Now, Holliday and Freese!
On Beltran! On Jon Jay, on Rafi and Greene!
To the top of the Central, to the top of the league!
Now hit away! Hit away! No need for intrigue!"
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on Twitter
the Brewers are better, the Reds so much fitter.
As I wrote a reply and considered agreeing
walked over St. Red to question my tweeting.
His eyes how they sharpened, his freckles so merry!
His jersey so retro, the birds colored like cherries!
His retired number pulled straight off the wall,
and his visage looks just like the bronze in the Hall.
The shaft of a bat he held tight in his hand,
and the end he rooted in the grass to help stand.
He had a broad grin, and a knowing wink.
"This team might be stronger than any one thinks."
He spoke a few words, then went back to work.
And watched all the starters, what he called a perk.
Carp's workload was high, but Waino's on the mend.
And giving a nod, he knows what's enough to contend.
He sprang to his golf cart, gave the team a whistle,
and promptly they gathered at the plaque for Kissell.
"Sure Albert sprouted wings, and Tony left his seat,
but spring has begun," he exclaimed, "and a chance to repeat!"
***
You can see how I presented this originally on this little side project I've got going to experiment a little bit and improve as a writer.
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