Red Sox haiku!
Bronson Arroyo
cold lampin' up on the mound
big pimpin' game three
Pedro Martinez
more: pre-game preparation
less: midget, hair care.
Doug Mirabelli
waiting for game four, kiddo.
We all miss you lots.
Manny Ramirez
Nice hit against Riveria.
Four more tonight, please.
By dirty, I mean 'nasty'
not 'load 'em, bottom nine.'
Whatever. Think you're hot shit?
Cabrera's better.
y'all are so fucking boring
shoot pigs in the face.
Momentum shifts for the Sox
Bronson Arroyo
who did Boston rain dances
I owe you ten bucks.
But it's not over, Damnit.
I'm tired of baseball.
On Saturday the Yankees beat
The Red Sox; Stephen King
And Johnny Damon knew defeat
And sniffled in their hankies.
On Sunday evening, Donald Trump
Is doing the same thing,
For Jeter's in a batting slump:
The Red Sox beat the Yankees!
now the cameras linger
on the pretty girls
Could finish cloning Ortiz
Twinny plays game 6?
Quantrill, Herredia too
I will cut your face
The lights are on at Fenway Park,
Aloft against the orange dark.
Below the clouds, above the lamps,
A bloated, blazing blimp encamps.
Below the lamps, above the grass:
A coalescent human mass.
Where are the players? No one sees
(as yet) Rodriguez or Ortiz
Within their sunken dens, or on
The smooth expanse of emerald lawn.
But on the grass, in green on green,
The groundsman's masterpiece is seen:
A giant pair of socks surround
The circle of the pitcher's mound.
The socks are not quite red, it's true,
But neither are they Yankee blue.
The tying run is safe.
Fenway banners show Red Sox love
"Let's Go," "Believe" and "Faith."
If there was a curse in beantown
It's not one Pappi's seen.
For Rivera frightens no one
And A-Rod wears thirteen.