Twas the night after the winter baseball meetings

And all through Halo space

Not a Halo exec was stirring; how would Tony save face?

The deals had been shot down, the best FA's were now toast,

The hopes were on St. Borass, jetting in from the coast.

No Crawford, no Willingham, no Lee, and no Vlad;

Was Reagins just hopeless, or had he been had?

The Halos Heaven faithful were all snug in their beds

While visions of Beltre danced in their heads.

And Tony in his red pj's and red Rally Monkey cap

Had just settled in for a long winter's nap.

When out at the Big A there arose such a clatter

The Ninja sprang from his waterbed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window he flew like a flash

Tore open the shutters after hiding his stash.

When what to his bewildered eyes should appear?

But a black Hummer limo and a dude with a sneer.

With his Sox hat, his Ray-bans, his blonde-dyed soul patch

Tony knew in a moment it must be St. Borass.

"I know you're dejected," the man said with a smile,

"but there's still premium FA's out there," and couldn't hide his guile.

"There's Damon, and Ankiel, and yes, Delwyn Young,

And Randy Winn is old but as good as they come.

There's Bloomquist, and Kapler, and the great Travis Buck,

And don't forget Jose Guillen, that lame worthless f**k.

And how about ol' Manny, now don't give me that face...

Or your old pal David Eckstein--can't he play 3rd base?"

"But I know who you really want," he smirked with a wink.

"There's only one guy to clean your post-season stink.

He will hit 30 bombs for ya, with one hundred rbi's,

And his plus 7 WAR will light up your fans' eyes.

He'll make most of those douchebags at Halos Heaven happy,

They'll forget losing Crawford and how much you've been crappy.

A season of ‘Callapso' must be very alarming,

And Izzy and Wood, well . . ." Then he tried to look charming.

"It's my boy Adrian Beltre who'll put you back in the race."

Then a sly avaricious smile stole over his face.

"But you know it's gonna cost you," as he cracked open a beer,

"Let's say 92 big ones for five paltry years,

And another year optional in 2016;

By the way, Soriano is the best that I've seen.

You can have him for peanuts, that's the least I can do.

Why you're counting on Rodney, ha! I haven't a clue."

"Oh help me!" cried Tony, "Get me out of this mess!

"I'll pay any price, and I have to confess

Though nobody knows it, I lost big at a casino,

You gotta save me, St. Borass, from the wrath of Moreno."

He ran to his desk and under Del Taco wrappers,

He found his red checkbook midst the scotch and the snappers,

And write away write away, he wrote out a check

For 200 million, and said, "Ah, what the heck . . ."

"Don't worry," said St. Borass, "those damned sabermaticians,

Can cry all they want, they have no positions.

You all be quite happy in October I think,

Billy Bean and  No-no Ryan will be driven to drink."

And as he sprang out the door into his warm limo heaven,

He shouted, "I'll be back for Weave and Kendry, in 2011!"