by Michael X. Ferraro
Been battered by Boggs and peppered by Pudge.
Dented by Dustin and jarred by A. Judge.
Pounded by Papi and tattooed by ‘Tek.
They call me the Monster, but I ain’t no Shrek.
For 89 years I’ve endured much abuse.
From a diet of line drives, my screws are all loose.
Remodeled by Ripken, mangled by Manny.
Yaz played my caroms, but then spanked my fanny.
My favorite New England season? Winter!
(That’s when I laid low from that Splendid Splinter.)
Was walloped by Winfield, rattled by Rice.
Killebrew concussed me, not once but twice.
Two decades ago, they put seats on my head!
(“Stop playing the martyr,” my therapist said.)
So tall that I fall prey to mid-section shots,
from Boomers and Deweys, to Mookies and Trots.
Some were mere scrapes, yet others… keelhaulings.
But the name I loathe most has got to be “Rawlings.”
Smirky baseballs, too big for their britches,
marking me up with horsehide and stitches.
Well, karma’s a bitch and revenge soothes the soul—
last week against KC, I swallowed one whole.
Do not shrug me off as some iconic feature;
I am a mean, green, most gluttonous creature.
Pay heed, Fenway faithful, the beast’s been unleashed.
The warning track knows that quite soon … I … SHALL … FEAST!
Michael X. Ferraro was the sports editor of Boston University’s award-winning Daily Free Press, which enabled him to ponder the Green Monster on the Fenway grass with the likes of Sam Horn, Marty Barrett, Sparky Anderson, Jim Walewander and Lee Smith. More recently, he is the author of Circus Catch, a satirical sports novel set in the golden age of American Cheating.
