[Jim Moonan]

.
Oh, man, Michael. That may be the best poem on the subject of baseball I've ever read. I'm a transplant to Boston, like you, (I grew up in central Jersey in a house divided between the Philadelphia Phillies and the NY Yankees) so I will never be the true authentic Red Sox fan like the ones that pelted you with cans and tomatoes (were the tomatoes in the cans? Ouch! That hurts!) It's not baseball; it's the poetry of baseball that steals me every time. Your poem does that.

Andrew: Ahem, I think you mean 2004, when, you know, the Red Sox came back from a 3-game playoff deficit against the Yankees and went on to win it all. Oh that was cathartic for us long-suffering Sox fans.

That 2004 series comeback against the Bronx Bombers for the 2004 AL championship was so electrifyingly cathartic that the ensuing World Series was almost like being in a state of shock as we watched the Sox make quick work of I-forget-who and win the World Series, breaking forever the curse of the Bambino. Our hearts were broken countless times during that fateful championship series, and each time divine intervention was there to resuscitate the Red Sox and push them back to play another game.

I remember at one point in the 1990's being so distraught by the Red Sox's failure to win the World Series that I wrote a letter to John Henry, team owner, begging him to build a new stadium on the waterfront. My theory, along with many others, was that Fenway Park was haunted and needed to be burned to the ground.

But, as Ann says, we're playing a game of pick-up on private property and we've got to go now. I'll ask to have this moved to D&A as Ralph suggests. That way we can have our pick-up game all day until dark and no one will chase us home.

I have this ballad I wrote about the summer my son played travel baseball...



----------

Cross-posted with Michael — Yes, I'll ask to have it moved. But if you start in with any Yankee-Panky be prepared for more tomatoes. Ha!

.