A Visit from St. Mariner
A Holiday Classic with your favorite Saint of an Owner.
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through T-Mo
Not a free agent was signing, not even Alonso;
The promotions were placed on the calendar with care,
In hopes that St. Mariner soon would be there;
The ownership group was nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of profits danced in their heads;
And Jerry in his Quarter-zip, and Justin with his fade,
Had continued wracking their brains in search for a trade,
When out on the diamond there arose such a clatter,
The Front Office sprang from their chairs to see what was the matter.
Away to the window they ran like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The magenta on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a lustre of strip club to the objects below,
When what to their wondering eyes did appear,
But a miniature budget and six arbitration cases to fear,
With a little old owner who was a budgetary threatener,
They knew in a moment he must be St. Mariner.
More rapid than Sound Transit his arbitrations they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and and offered resolutions by name:
"$1M for Trent! $1M for Tayler! You won’t get $11, so how about $9M for Randy?
$5M for Cal! And maybe for Kirby! Should we trade Logan? The savings will be dandy!
To the top of the profits! To the middle of the division!
Now trade away! trade away! Mediocrity is the vision!"
As playoff chances before October surely will fly,
They meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the train tracks of Sound Transit they flew
With the sleigh full of Funkos, and St. Mariner too—
And then, in a twinkling, the front office heard on the rails
The approval from St. Mariner despite all of their fails.
As they put hands to their heads, they both turned around,
Through the office door came St. Mariner equipt with a frown.
He was dressed all in moose fur, from his feet to his head,
Jerry and Justin cowered, their eyes filled with dread;
A bundle of debt he had dropped down on his boot,
Every single paper covered with a logo from ROOT.
His eyes—how they stared! his dimples, how scary!
His cheeks with a scowl as he yelled at Justin and Jerry!
His droll little mouth still shaped with a frown,
When asked about the budget, he emphasized it’d go down;
The lump of cash he held tight in his hands,
With pockets full of hundreds he wrapped up in bands;
He had a broad face and a little round belly
That shook when he screamed, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, on a diet of caviar and champagne,
Jerry and Justin cried when they saw him, their hearts filled with pain;
With a wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Their World Series aspirations were shrinking, they were borderline dead;
He spoke a few words - “Now listen you jerk…
Hatback needs toilets scrubbed; now go get to work!”
He pivoted around and said nothing more,
Not even a nod, as he left through the door;
He sprang to Sound Transit, to his team gave a shout,
DON’T YOU DARE SPEND ABOVE BUDGET OR I’LL COME BACK ABOUT!
Jerry and Justin waited until he was out of sight —
“Happy Free Agency to all, except for wallets too tight!”