Monday, May 23, 2005

No Joy In Mudville?

Mrs. Weasel's mother recently bought a new house in a more rural area (sic) of Bar Harbor, necessitating my lovely consort to take a trip up to the Island of Misfit Toys to retrieve various artefacts from her childhood home before they were scheduled an appointment with the dump.

As a life-long Red Sox fan the armfuls of grade- and middle school ephemera Mrs. W toted in to the house upon her return today had a real Fenway feel. Along with the long distance microscopic outfielder studies of Mike Greenwell ("I'd recognize that moustache anywhere" quoth Mrs. W upon being challenged as to her stck figure identification prowess) and bullpen candids of Oil Can Boyd warming up was one real find; an original Mrs. W poem from the 6th Grade titled "A Boston Fan's Fantasy".
Given the lowered expectations of the Fenway faithful, it doesn't describe Ellis Burks hoisting the World Series trophy (I'm sure she won't mind me recounting her tears of joy when she finally got to see that last year) but rather a face-off between the Sox and the Athletics, circa 1989. With her kind permission, her magnum opus is reproduced below:

A Boston Fan's Fantasy
Oh Fenway, my Fenway,
Green walls reach to the heavens,
In out field the Greenwell, Burks,
And Dwight Evans

Fans have fun,
Doing the wave,
While in the sun,
The players slave.

The Citgo sign,
In Copley Square,
Can be seen,
When the weather's fair.

Hot dogs taste good,
So do the pretzels.
On the mound,
Towers Eric Hetzel.

Red Sox and A's,
Ready to fight.
They will play,
Well into the night.

As you may know,
This is the game of the season.
Whoever wins will celebrate,
For a very good reason.

The A's are leading,
How could this be?
Boggs can't hit,
He has a sprained knee.

Boston's down by three and bases loaded,
Two outs were on.
Bruno is up,
The pitch is .....gone?

Oh gosh it's a hit!
A grand slam!
Everyone is cheering,
Hugging, even the fans.

The hero is Bruno,
Oh yes it is he,
Who had been in a slump,
Then won it just for me.


Mondale said...

I thought the poem was marvellous, especially the rhyming bits (but then I can't say anything bad about Ms Weasel or she'll slap a travel ban on me north of Portland).
I do recall writing something rather gloomy and Morrissey-esque about the demise of English football in the late '80's. I seem to remeber it went a little like this,
"Nobody understands us, Nobody even tries, But they'll want to hear our stories the day that football dies".

I have a horrible feeling that I've lost my stash of inspired poetry from the 1980's but, like Listmaker and Ms Weasel I am heading straight for my parent's attic next time I'm home.
I think another one was entitled "old man tree". It was about a tree that from a distance looked a bit like an old man.

weasel said...

I know that she will appreciate your kind words, coming from a professional educator as they do.
Your poem hints at the lyrical possibilities of Joy Division/New Order if Ian Curtis had not topped himself. Much better lyrics than "World in Motion".

Equally as important, I need help identifying "Bruno". Mrs. W can't recall, and I'm begining to suspect it's Bruce Willis and his self-imposed nickname that features in her fantasy poem.

weasel said...

We have a Bruno! Mrs. Weasel came through, putting you Brooklyn baseball goons to shame:

"I looked it up... Bruno is Tom Brunansky who played for the Red Sox in 89 and 90."

I love her so, not least because she refuses to buy one of those pink Sox hats.

jamie said...

thank god that Eric Hetzel's unglamorous career coincided with the penning of this piece, otherwise what would she have rhymed with "pretzel"? that era was full of hilarious names. just looking at 1990 alone you have Billy Jo Robidoux, Danny Heep, Randy Kutcher, and Dana Kiecker.

weasel said...

I agree- Hetzel came through. "Clemens" and "lemons" would not have rung true, as neither would have "Mike Rochford" and "delicious French roquefort".