[Photo Credit: Wikimedia Commons]
‘Twas the first day of baseball, and in every town
Each fanbase was ready, and hope did abound.
The bunting was hung from the grandstands with care,
In hopes that the masses soon would be there.
The clubhouse was calm as the game time drew near,
The players all eager to begin the new year.
The fielders were ready and pounding their gloves,
And thrilled to return to the game that they love.
Then out on the field there arose such as clatter,
I sprang from the dugout to see what was the matter.
And what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a team clad in pinstripes, unloading their gear,
Then onto the field not a moment too soon,
Stepped the team’s leader, our man Aaron Boone.
More rapid than Red Sox, his savages came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now, DJ! now, Stanton! now, Judgie and Soto!
It’s time to line up and take the team photo!
On, Gleyber! on, Volpe! Let’s pick up the pace!
Stand shoulder to shoulder, don’t leave any space!”
Boone looked at his team, all lined up with big smiles,
And announced that they’d beat all their rivals by miles.
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And his once curly locks were now sprinkled with snow.
But his faith in his team was so pure and so right,
I was stunned to admit that try as I might,
I just couldn’t argue or question his take,
And started to wonder if I was awake.
The dream of one hundred and sixty-two games,
Each one with an ending exactly the same.
The Bronx Bombers alone at the top of the heap,
Their opponents beneath them, their deficit deep.
The perfection of spring would extend to the fall,
A six-month long win streak, vanquishing all.
I struggled to shake off the grip of my dream,
To lower the hopes that I had for this team.
But Boone, he just stood there, shaking his head,
Wondering why I’d choose doubt, not belief instead.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work.
He hit a few fungos, then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
He winked and I wondered just what he might know.
He sprang down the steps, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he ran out of sight,
“Happy Baseball to all, the future is bright!”
