The crack of the bat in April led to cheers right now,
The Sox are in the playoffs… I can’t help but wonder how.
The team last year was horrid, overpaid and bad…
Their fans just shook their heads: distraught, upset, and sad.
Gonzalez, Beckett, Crawford, all were sent away
Another manager got the boot, Fenway skies were gray.
No more shopping for superstars in a Major League casino,
They rebuilt with scrappers like Gomes and Victorino…
They didn’t have a chance… zip and nothing, nothing, nada…
Just a bunch of no names like Karp and Daniel Nava…
No one predicted playoffs, no pundit had a hunch,
No one sniffed the greatness of this strange and bearded bunch,
These baseball sons of anarchy would give other pitchers tension
A hairy gang of lumber who look like a biker gang convention,
These guys make ugly beautiful, hair designers hate them,
The hirsute men of summer… Madonna would not date them.
These are not the pretty boys from fashion magazines,
Upon our hardened hardball hearts, they’ve poured some gasoline,
Now we’re burning for the Series, and we’re hoping for a ring.
We’re cheering once again, their praises now we sing.
With backbones strong with character, and eyes aimed straight ahead,
These sloping bearded scrappers raised baseball from the dead.
They’re playing in October… We celebrate the Fenway green,
And the best looking group of ugly guys this town has ever seen.
Listen to Carl’s poem here: