The Night Before Sterling
‘Twas the night before Sterling, when all through the house,
Each creature was fearing, what would spring from his mouth;
For tomorrow he sits in his Yank’s broadcast chair,
And starts a new season of spewing hot air;
The radios were tuned to the Yankee’s network,
Just awaiting the s**t that would emit from this jerk;
I took out my jersey, I put on my cap,
And finally awoke from my long winter’s nap;
When out of the radio, there rose such a clatter;
As Sterling had started his mind-numbing patter;
He’s always mistaking, what are strikes and are balls,
And makes efforts painstaking, on his home run calls;
On Jeter, on Text, on Jolly Saint Nick,
On my nerves, for quite frankly, he’s making me sick;
Is it fair? Is it foul? Is it over the wall?
He’s calls are like noses, he blows one and all;
But this game is a tough one, there’s just no explaining,
And while he makes little sense, there’s no sense complaining;
So here I exclaim, whilst full of derision;
Click off your radio, and watch television!