'Twas the night before Bat Fight, when all through the state
Not a creature was stirring, not even a skate;
The reels were loaded by the fisherman with care,
In hopes that big bats soon would be there;
The fighters were nestled all smug in their beds;
While visions of the winning bat danced in their heads;
And Tom in his hoodie, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,
When out on the beach there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the crest of the high tide below,
Gave a lustre of midday to objects don’t you know,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But The OC Team carrying a might big cooler full of beer,
With a little old captain so wily and hip,
I knew in a moment he must be St. Chip.
More rapid than eagle rays his fighters they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
"Now, Mark! now, Gage! now Keith and Nabeel!
On, Alan! on, Jeff! on, JayRay and SoCalBill!
From the top of the hill! to the bottom at the beach!
Now cast away! cast away! cast away all!"
As weights that like a wild hurricane fly,
Their mighty poles, flung them through the sky;
So on the beach the mighty bat fighters did toke,
With music from their speakers, and St. Chip cracking jokes,
And then, on Facebook, I read in a post;
Where’s My Beer was seething and turned to toast.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the beach St. Chip was coming with a bound.
He was dressed all in swag, from his head to his foot,
And his clicker was screaming, a big bat he had hooked;
On the sand the monster measured 60 inch,
And the Bat Fight trophy, Team OC did cinch.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
San Diego hoped to win, but their chances were nary!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a cigarette he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Making sure San Diego would never win again; because they are jerks,
And laying his middle finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the beach he arose;
He sprang to his rod, to his team gave a whistle,
And they all caught big bats, except San Diego, who got a dismissal.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he was done for the night—
“Cold beers to all, and to all a great Bat Fight!”