I wanted to write a poetry parody that would preview the upcoming baseball season and make a prediction for every team, but since I'm a grad student, I had grading to do, reading to do, emails to return, a dog to walk, a nap to take, etc., so you're getting a limited but potent dose. So below is Percy Bysshe Shelley's prediction for the 2006 MLB season.
I met a traveler from Chicagoland
Who said: Two vast and trunkless teams of stone
Play in the AL East. Near them in the standings,
Half mad, a Guillen visage smirks, whose frown,
And crazy smile, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its wearer well those passions knows
Which yet survive, stamped on those Series rings,
The hand that wears them, and the team that blows:
And on his undershirt these words appear:
"My name is Ozziemandias, manager:
Look on my team, ye Yankees, and despair!"
White Sox will lose this year. Round the decay
Of all free agency, hopeful all year
The even teams love Opening Day.
And if that weren't enough, Elizabeth Bishop emailed me her predictions as well.
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many pitchers, one disabled list,
how can they win? Their team is a disaster.
Lose one game every day. Send down your roster
of lost money, bad players getting pissed.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
The Devil Rays, they'll lose farther, lose faster:
morale, and games, and where it was they wished
to travel. Season's here, time for disaster.
The Cincinnati Reds, they'll come in last or
next-to-last, Ken Griffey's hamstring turns to mist,
Dunn K's, Harang's their ace--no master.
All losing teams. Seattle's one, with vaster
talent--Felix, Ichiro. And the Pirates,
at least their ballpark's no disaster.
--I love the losing teams; thus the mocking gesture
of love. They try so hard, I know, but grist
they are for parody. Yes, they will master
cellar-dwelling, all or most. Disaster.