No doubt parents everywhere (yours truly included) will be reading the classic Christmas poem "The Night Before Christmas" as they tuck their little ones into bed tonight and tomorrow night. But loyal CST readers may choose this twisted version instead - because nothing says Christmas Joy like Cleveland Sports Torture:
Their glasses half-full, optimistic with care,
In hopes that a big time free agent soon would sign there.
Fans knew they'd probably go somewhere else instead,
But visions of championships danced in their head.
This is Cleveland, getting players to come is a reach,
Even our hometown heroes take their talents to South Beach.
First there was Art, who moved our team to Baltimore,
Then won the Superbowl, and left us holding onto '64.
We've had Couch, Holcomb, Garcia, and Quinn,
Pederson, Anderson - none of them could win.
Then there was Manny, too dumb to do us harm
But left us anyway, even though we offered the farm.
He went to Boston and won World Series MVP,
Then Jim's wife became his rock - and no more Thome.
Who can forget Boozer, our second round steal?
Stabbed a blind man in his back, in a schmoz of a deal.
He was the sidekick who would bring us the ring,
But couldn't be second fiddle to that guy called the "King".
Speaking of you-know-who, he was one of our own
A two time MVP, our savior home grown.
Then he quit on his team, a fake from the start
Orchestrated The Decision and stabbed a city in the heart.
And that's just how it is, living with the Cleveland Curse
Hoping for the best, but expecting worse.
Not a title nor meaningful free agent in sight,
But Merry Christmas anyway, and to all a good night!