Goodbye, Manuel Aristides,
At times we all were far too cruel,
But you had the grace to point both hands
While smilin’ like a fool.
They disparaged you in the Herald,
Made innuendoes in the Globe.
They chased you all around the Hub,
Caught in flashbulbs like a strobe.

And it seems to me you lived your life
With your dreadlocks in the wind,
Steppin’ quickly in the Monster
Just to take a whiz,
And you would have been our hero,
But you were just a kid.
Your time here ran out long before
Your legend ever did.

Manny being Manny’s tough,
The toughest role you ever played,
But your bat made you a superstar,
And pain’s the price you paid.
Even when you left,
The press still had too much to say.
All that Boston.com would comment
Was that Manny didn’t want the trade.

And it seems to me you lived your life
With your dreadlocks in the wind,
Catchin’ flies and givin’ high-fives
Before you’d throw it in,
And you would have been our hero,
But you were just a kid,
Your time here ran out long before
Your legend ever did.

Goodbye, Manuel Aristides,
Though I never knew you at all,
You had the feel to play left field,
Fielding caroms off the Wall.
Goodbye, Manuel Aristides,
From the young boy in a Monster Seat,
Who saw you as something not so infantile,
Maybe what he would like to be,

And it seems to me you lived your life
With your dreadlocks in the wind,
If the role was just too much to bear,
It’s not as if you sinned,
And you would have been our hero,
But you were just a kid,
Your time here ran out long before,
Your legend ever did.

  Posted 9/10/08

It won’t be for his arm or savvy
Or the hits he gave up left and right.
What we’ll remember ’bout Geremi Gonzales
Is the way he would light up the night.

Posted in memory 7/21/08 

One little piece of skin,
The size of a child’s little finger,
Can bring a big man down.

The pain will linger
for David Ortiz,
For at least three weeks.

He’s in a cast…geez.
Like a mouse to an elephant,
A torn tendon sheath

Doesn’t sound significant
But to a guy
Who depends on his wrists

It’s a poke in the eye
And a full-arm cast
And a lot of sitting.

How long the pain will last
Is not clear…
But it could go all year.

Posted 6/10/08

Manny with his flowing locks,
Left field, Boston Red Sox,
When he’s in the batter’s box,
Gives the ball some mighty knox!

Posted 10/26/2007

Where’s Manny?
Where’s Manny?
All Boston’s getting clammy.
The Red Sox are in danger of a troubling declanny.

If “Manny being Manny”
Means pulled muscle or strained hammy,
Opponents dance and laugh
Because he can’t give them the whammy.

If Terry F. is canny,
He’ll come up with a planny
To help the Red Sox win it
Even if they don’t have Manny.

But if Coco’s cold and Papelbon
Cannot escape a jammy,
The Fenway Faithful might cry out
For someone else…like…Sammy?!

Posted 9/26/07 

We all grabbed a beer and a smoke…

And we toasted the long-ago memories

And the quick way he had with a joke.

He’s dead, just 38.

It makes no sense

To those of us here on the outside.

Why him? He seemed normal.

Never formal,

So unaffected by the fame

Of the great game,

But sometimes worlds don’t collide.

For some, there’s no life after baseball.

For some, there’s no way to adjust.

So he left his wife and two children

In a cloud of motorhome dust.

He’s dead, just 38.

He died alone

In Phoenix, for God’s sake.

It’s got to be a mistake.

Sure, he liked a beer and his cigarettes.

That was part of his character.

But beneath the veneer

Of that which is legal,

it all was much worse.

The curses

Of hard drugs and failure

Of arm injuries and rehab

Are tough on athletes

With nothing else to do.

You can’t fish all day.

You can’t drink beer all day.

But when you’re Rod Beck,

And the dream is gone,

What do you do with your time

But look for the next high

And kiss each day goodbye?