by James Finn Garner
“Grandpa, tell me once again
How the Tribe could never lose.”
“Well, kid, in August of ’17
They was playing good, quick and loose,
“When the Boston Carmines came to town–
A purt good team, or so I heard–
Bauer climbed upon the mound
And crikey, a miracle occurred!
“Might’ve been magic, or a curse,
Or blasted divine intervention
But they plum forgot how to lose.
Game in, game out, no apprehension,
“The Tribe just kept on winning!
Like the sun a-rising in the east
When come the final inning,
Francona’s boys just rose like yeast.
“It’s been 15 years or more, I reckon,
Since that team has notched an L.
Never trailing nor choking for a second,
From first of March to closing bell.”
“Grandpa, what about the other teams?”
“They just broke up, one by one.
No league no more, because it seems
With no fair chance, the game ain’t no fun.”