GREETINGS, FRIENDS!
[With apologies to Roger
Angell and Jim Gaffigan]
Greetings, friends! We
made it through
A godawful season,
feeling so blue.
Bare, faded memories of
World Series rings
Our heart overflowed, of
Theo, we’d sing.
But now, my friends, it’s
cold reality,
Breathe deep. Do it
quick. Fuck Bobby Vee.
Of course, it wasn’t all
his doing.
Yet, the interlude felt
like a mammoth self-screwing.
Felicitations, red hats
and blues
Let’s see some better
attitudes—
Come bump the chest and punch
a fist
Despite the fact that we
are pissed.
[“Go forward, stupid,
see it through”]
We have no choice, it’s
all we can do.
So, let’s proceed on our
merry way.
Quick! Name the shortstop
last Opening Day.
Julio Lugo? Edgar
Renteria?
Survey says it was Mike Aviles
I think he’s here! Oh
wait, he’s not?
Stephane Drew has the
coveted spot.
Excuse the haziness, but
I fear
I lost an entire Red Sox
year.
I know for sure that’s
Beckett’s gone
And Gonz and Punto.
Dodgers (Yawn)
At least we have the
Patriots
They lost too? I guess I
forgot.
Bruins? Lockout.
Celtics. Old.
Pattern developing. Our
hearts grow cold.
Wait a minute, we still
have Yoooooooouk.
Oh no we don’t, the
pinstriped puke.
Welcome back, Mr. Dustin
Pedroia
Faux Laser Show, alleged
destroyah
DH, here’s Papi. Ells, Center
Field
Sooner than not, his next team will be revealed.
On Lester, on Bucholz,
on Lackey, of course(s)
Would you bet 5 bucks on
any of those horses?
No? Oh ye of little
faith.
At least be glad that
Maine marries the gays.
[“That’s all you got?”] (My
friend that’s a lot.
In this day and age, men
can tie up the knot).
[“But that’s not
baseball, little man!”] You say with a snort.
“There’s none played in
Fenway!” I bluntly retort.
(The sad, plaintive
refuge of the frustrated writer.
Asking questions with
answers that make him seem brighter.)
Now we return to our
usual station
Obie and Castig suffering
for the Nation.
We dare not forget “And
I am John Rish”
I tried, but so far
haven’t gotten that wish.
[“Baseball, goddamit!
Enough with these detours!”]
(I’m trying, I’m trying,
but I remember the ballscores).
Let’s pull it together,
start creepy and slow.
Bob, Rich and h.b., the
people you know.
Nat, kaz and yazbread,
decidedly so
sdu, how we miss you,
Hoist the flag Down Below.
Oh right name the
players, the guys we will watch.
Ummm, Gomes, Nap, and
Salty. Please bring me a scotch.
Two thousand and
thirteen, a poem not yet written.
I’m cautious, twice shy,
and constantly bitten.
Surly, but lovable, I
still wish you cheer
For the upcoming
post-Mayan start of the year.
Things have been better,
but things have been worse.
Geffner, and Nancy and
the damnable curse.
So stand tall,
Soxaholix, our future awaits
At some time next year,
our hopes will inflate.
And maybe, just maybe, a
Pennant will fly.
Hey Bobby Vee, your son
needs his ride.
[“Oh, that was just
mean, you were being so nice!”]
(I wish I could follow
your simple advice.)
OK, now I mean it. I
wish you all peace.
Joy, fun and merriment
without surcease.
See you in the Series.
lc
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