[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.