Lazarus move over, shake the cobwebs from your head,
you are not the only soul to rise up from the dead…
Yours is not the only breath to breathe the air anew,
a miracle of baseball in this town just whistled through.
The team rose from the basement, to the wonderment of all,
an apathetic midget became a giant, standing tall…
Players, bearded prophets, emerged from the dark fog,
their tattooed arms hit baseballs like Paul Bunyan split a log.
Their laser-focused pitchers made batters ask “what’s wrong?”
this is our Boston Red Sox, from Boston, Boston Strong.
After midnight, clad in victory, Red Sox fans were there,
standing on the finish line, tossing joy into the air…
This pavement place of awful tears back on Marathon Day,
was transformed in celebration…the sox brought hope our way.
They resurrected triumph, found diamonds in the dust,
they found the best within themselves, and brought out the best in us.
They scraped and clawed and didn’t care what the experts said,
a different hero every night…they rose up from the dead.
And so today New England sings a bright and hopeful song
about our Boston Red Sox, from Boston, Boston Strong.
There’s no such thing as destiny, what’s real is sweat and grit,
a base path that you dive upon, a baseball that you hit,
a single team, a single goal pursued with fiery eyes,
borrowing patience from the ocean and thunder from the skies…
They sculpted sweat redemption, from the dugout to the field,
their simple goal was victory, no compromise, no yield…
With beards and brawn and faces that only a mom could love,
they lifted our distracted gaze from what’s below to what’s above.
There are always wins and losses, there are always rights and wrongs…
but right now we have our Red Sox, and our city, Boston Strong
Listen to Carl Stevens’ poem