Carl Stevens’ Journal: Red Sox World Series Preview Poem
Remind your mind what your eyes have seen, remind your heart where your heart has been.
A summer-long journey of wild redemption with bearded men of guts and gumption; a Lazarus-ride, from worst to first, they created a Porsche from the husk of a hearse.
“They’ll be mired in slop,” the soothsayers said.
But these hogs rode their hogs straight up from the dead.
They transformed the mud to an acre of barley.
Now their Porsche of success sounds a lot like a Harley.
As tough as Fisk, as tenacious as Damon, these twenty-five men exorcised demons that haunted that clubhouse on Yawkey Way.
They threw all the fried chicken away.
And feasted on hope and sweat and desire; the team – as a team – floated through fire.
Their mission was simple, sculpted and plain.
Do what you must to win a game.
And at the end of each day’s work,
Leave all that you have in the grass and the dirt.
For 162 they were quite a sight, it seemed like a different hero each night.
Twenty-five guys all on the same page,
Channeling talents and patience and rage.
The nation, in awe, is wondering how.
But it’s no more mysterious than the sweat on a brow.
This team has done more than just make us cheer.
They remind us all of what’s possible here.
When we work hard in selfless endeavor.
We can all do things we’ll be proud of forever.
So as the Series begins let’s rattle and fuss ‘cuz these men with red socks are playing for us; and just like those hairy guys in ’04, this bearded bunch will open the door to another bright New England day as they, like those idiots, blow the Cardinals away.
Listen to Carl’s poem here: