First, I want to nominate monkeyball as poet laureate of AN. And as part of my festschrift diary, I submit the following sonnets.
Note: monkeyball only had to smoke some opium to get into the mood. I had to contract tuberculosis.
I met a traveler, a Yankees' fan,
Who said, "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the Bronx, near them, by the stands
Half-sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command
Tell that the sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
`My name is Boss Steinbrenner, King of Kings!
Look on my team, ye mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level stands stretch far away."
On First Looking Into Lewis's "Moneyball"
Much have I traveled in the green and gold
And many goodly teams and players seen.
Round many Western titles have I been
Which players in fealty to the A's did hold.
Oft of one great GM had I been told
Whom deep-browed Sandy hired to his demesne
But never did I taste his pure serene
Til I heard Lewis speak out loud and bold.
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When Chavy's homer swims into his ken,
Or like stout Macha, when with eagle eyes
He stared at diving Kendall, and all his men
Looked as each other with a wild surmise,
Silent, upon a field in Arlington.