Twas the Night Before Christmas,
In Buffalo Stadium,
No spring things were growing,
Not a single Caladium.
Still the jock straps were hung,
In the clubhouse with care,
In the faith that come spring,
Fond hopes would forbear.
And the Cardinals would send us,
The guys to full fill ’em,
With pitchers like Dean,
And hitters like “Willem.”
And if we can’t land,
Teddy Ballgame, per usual,
We’ll happily settle,
For a hitter like Musial.
And we’ll dream of the day,
When the big time will come,
And we’re playin’ the Series.
‘Ginst the Yankees or Bums.
National or American,
Won’t matter to most,
But we’ll take the NL,
Like butter on toast.
But meanwhile the madness,
Won’t slow from a bustle,
As long as our leader,
Is Allen H. Russell.
On Witte! On Miggins! On Rubert! On Clark!
On Kazak! On Mizell! On Papai! Fire sparks!
Help us to get through these Off-Season Drearies!
With dreams of next taking that sweet Dixie Series!
Merry Christmas 1951, Houstonians! And watch out for all those super highways that are sprouting up all over town for the sake of saving us all from ourselves. Sure is comforting to know that we are blessed with all these local poiliticians and businessmen/land developers from downtown. Those big rich guys really seem to have our best interests at heart!
The Pecan Park Eagle 
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