Flavin - Red Sox rhymes: verses and curses

DICK FLAVIN is the poet laureate and senior ambassador of the Boston Red Sox and voice of Fenway Park, serving as public address announcer for Red Sox day games. His television commentaries won seven New England Emmy Awards, he is a nationally known speaker, and is a member of the Massachusetts Broadcasters Hall of Fame. He wrote and starred in According to Tip, the acclaimed one-man play about legendary Speaker of the House Tip ONeill. He lives in Quincy, Massachusetts. Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com. Ltd. Ltd.

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T his little book could never have happened without the Boston Red Sox, with whom I have been in love all my life. The team on the field might have let me down on more than one occasion over the past seven decades but the present-day organization has never wavered in its enthusiastic support of me and of this book. Starting from the top, Larry Lucchino and Sam Kennedy have been exceedingly generous and that has spread throughout the entire shop. Charles Steinberg is my Red Sox rabbi.

He has been my biggest booster and my most trusted confidante. Pam Kenn has helped in countless ways. The late Dick Bresciani provided invaluable guidance, as he did for so many others. Thanks to Sarah Coffin, Michael Ivins, Billy Weiss, Dave Friedman and Dave Beeston. At William Morrow Lisa Sharkey has been my championfor that I am gratefuland Daniella Valladares, my editor, has guided me with a steady and patient hand and constant good cheer. Nobody in or around baseball has earned more respect than the estimable Peter Gammons and I am in his debt for his writing the foreword.

Donna Cohen has led me through the labyrinth of business and legal issues that are beyond my comprehension. She is a great pro and a great dame. Billie Munro Audia and Karen Zahler have been of invaluable help. Harry Sherr set the wheels in motion to get this project off the ground and Gary and Lynne Smith have championed it from the start. I am thankful to Richard Johnson, curator of the Sports Museum of New England, for generously allowing the use of memorabilia from his personal collection. I am thankful to George Mitrovich, chairman of the Great Fenway Park Writers Series; the BoSox Club, the official booster club of the Red Sox; and the Blohards, a New York Citybased group of Red Sox fanatics (and they say that only the game fish swims upstream!).

All have happily allowed the use of their venues to test out and hone material. Finally, my thanks to Ernest Lawrence Thayer, who could not have known back in 1888, when he wrote a humorous poem for the San Francisco Examiner called Casey at the Bat, that it would one day lead to this.

c. 2013 In oh twelve the Red Sox wound up in last place. They stunk, but they got themselves back in the race. In thirteen they hit and they threw and they slid.

They won the World Series, thats what those guys did. They hustled, they bustled, they played hard, they gave. In fact they did everything except shave. In springtime, whenever someone hit a double, Youd notice that on his face was some stubble. When spring turned to summer there started a buzz. The more times they won the more fuzz there was.

The season wore on and the pace became brisker; They kept winning games, sometimes by a whisker. By the time it was over (this sounds kind of weird), Just about every guy had a beard. So now we can say how they got all those wins. They won by the hair on their chinny-chin-chins. David Ross and Mike Napoli of the Bearded Brotherhood of 2013. 2004 The outlook wasnt brilliant for the Beantown nine that night Down three games to none, Ninth inning, end in sight. 2004 The outlook wasnt brilliant for the Beantown nine that night Down three games to none, Ninth inning, end in sight.

So to that stricken multitude Ignominy beckoned. Then pinch runner Roberts Made a dash for second. The catcher came up throwing, Jeter raced to take the ball. Roberts dove. The play was close. Safe! was the umpires call.

What happened next will be retold For years in baseball lore, For that theft sparked a comeback Unheard of before. Mueller singled Roberts home And several innings later Big Papi put the game away With a home run tater. The Sox went on to win game five, Game six and then game seven. The Yanks were dead. The Cards got swept. And hello, Baseball Heaven.

There was cheering there was singing, And heroes filled the place. But it never would have happened Had not Roberts stole that base. On the brink of elimination by the Yankees in 2004, Dave Roberts steals second basebarely. (Courtesy of the Boston Red Sox.) Two hundred forty thousand fans per year tour Fenway Park. (Memorabilia from the Collection of Richard Johnson.) October 27, 2004, Busch Memorial Stadium, St. Louis.

The curse is reversed! (Courtesy of the Boston Red Sox.)

(To the tune of Razzle-Dazzle from the musical Chicago) c. 2004 We gave em the old razzle-dazzle We razzle-dazzled em We started out by sweeping Anaheim Then it was on to crush-the-Yankees time Gave em a full three-game head start Then we clobbered em How could they win with A-Rods girly slap? The Empire choked and it was shocking With Damons hair and Schillings stocking We razzle-dazzled em And now were on the map We gave em the old razzle-dazzle We razzle-dazzled em We finished up against St. Louis Four games later they were singin the blue-iss Gave em the old eight-game win streak Stunned and staggered em And that World Series flag is now unfurled Red Sox Nation is all in clover And here is whythe Curse is over We razzle-dazzled em Now were champs of the world! A Red Sox Christmas card. (Memorabilia from the Collection of Richard Johnson.) c. 2013 Twas the night before Christmas and all through the park Not a creature was stirring, the whole place was dark. The season was over and in the grandstand I was sitting alone; there was no other fan.

When up on the Wall there arose such a clatter I sprang from my seat to see what was the matter. And what should appear as if in a dream A Red Sox manager and a whole baseball team. He had a square jaw and a chest like a barrel. I knew in a moment it must be John Farrell. Then, giving a nod to the famed pitchers mound, Down the Fisk Pole the manager slid with a bound. He was wearing his uniform and on his back He carried a bundle of gifts in a sack.

He crept to the infield and from the bag took A gift so amazing my whole body shook. It was for the children, Mom, Dad and Aunt Sophie For, lo, I beheld the World Series Trophy. It glittered and glowed and made everything bright And no one had even turned on any light. Gently he held it with tenderness great. Then he carefully placed it right there on home plate. And raising his hand to the bill of his hat Up the Fisk Pole he rose as quickly as that.