LynnRice75 appreciation thread. Oh, and there's a game tonight. (9/18)
- Thread starter AB in DC
- Start date
150+ poems, it’s quite a long haul
But Lynn/Rice 75 never gave up and took his ball
And went home which was thankfully a gift to us all
In these threads we bitch, we whine we cry and we bawl
we yell at the players, the posters and we catterwall
it’s like we should be asked to point at a doll
to show where the Sox hurt us while we down alcohol
but after 162 one thing will be true for me, you and y’all
it will suck with no Sox games to watch this year in late fall
But Lynn/Rice 75 never gave up and took his ball
And went home which was thankfully a gift to us all
In these threads we bitch, we whine we cry and we bawl
we yell at the players, the posters and we catterwall
it’s like we should be asked to point at a doll
to show where the Sox hurt us while we down alcohol
but after 162 one thing will be true for me, you and y’all
it will suck with no Sox games to watch this year in late fall
Even if the games often suck
LynnRice75 always struck
A mighty wallop when
He swung his pen
His stamina never seemed to grow lax
Unlike Masa and Pax
He never seemed to ail
How about lessons to Arroyo and Sale
Even on vacation he went over and above
To salute the players that had no glove
And while the Sox are mostly dead
Our daily metricist never missed a thread
Everyday he sated
Strict adherence to meter is overrated
LynnRice75 always struck
A mighty wallop when
He swung his pen
His stamina never seemed to grow lax
Unlike Masa and Pax
He never seemed to ail
How about lessons to Arroyo and Sale
Even on vacation he went over and above
To salute the players that had no glove
And while the Sox are mostly dead
Our daily metricist never missed a thread
Everyday he sated
Strict adherence to meter is overrated
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Nice one!
I have no skills of any kind in this arena, so I will just echo the thanks to LynnRice75 for adding something great to every damn game thread this season.
There once was a poster named Lynn/Rice
Whose poems in the game threads were quite nice
The team we did endure
Thanks to his literature
And he never used the same rhyme twice
Whose poems in the game threads were quite nice
The team we did endure
Thanks to his literature
And he never used the same rhyme twice
Free verse is a multiverse of
Words that never rhyme, unless
By accident. Is it the easy way?
Maybe, and not for the likes of @LynnRice75
But I'll take that road, even if
It's the less travelled-by...
Notice if you please the near-
Rhyme between line 5 and
The name of our Poet.
I'm running out of no rhymes,
Now, but to say Thank You.
That I can do.
Words that never rhyme, unless
By accident. Is it the easy way?
Maybe, and not for the likes of @LynnRice75
But I'll take that road, even if
It's the less travelled-by...
Notice if you please the near-
Rhyme between line 5 and
The name of our Poet.
I'm running out of no rhymes,
Now, but to say Thank You.
That I can do.
There once was a fan name of Lynn
Whose poems rose over the din
Of this long varied season
And gave us a reason
To stay when the victories were thin
Whose poems rose over the din
Of this long varied season
And gave us a reason
To stay when the victories were thin
A poet, I am not
Yes, the season; it is shot
One that should be forgot
The pitching, not so hot
Casas we liked a lot
On a roll they never got
Cora could not spot
The signs of reliever’s rot
Kike, Tilt, Corey
The main problems they were not
Catching, hitting, running, playing
This they did a lot
Was it good enough to watch?
Sometimes yes
Sometimes not
And that is all I got.
Yes, the season; it is shot
One that should be forgot
The pitching, not so hot
Casas we liked a lot
On a roll they never got
Cora could not spot
The signs of reliever’s rot
Kike, Tilt, Corey
The main problems they were not
Catching, hitting, running, playing
This they did a lot
Was it good enough to watch?
Sometimes yes
Sometimes not
And that is all I got.
Millar is doing his show from the Rangers stadium right now so I’m guessing he’s there for the NESN broadcast.
Does there have to be a game?
This season is really lame.
Random moves without an aim,
Bloom seasons all end the same.
Etc. etc.
This season is really lame.
Random moves without an aim,
Bloom seasons all end the same.
Etc. etc.
Game 151
Thanks for the shout-outs. It’s been fun to write verse.
SOSH has been a gift that I can’t reimburse.
I’m glad that we’ve all had this place to immerse
ourselves during games, so that we can disperse
stats, jokes, and insights while we infight and curse
bad plays and decisions and try to coerce
the Gods to grant wins, but things have gotten worse.
Though the team’s not dead yet, we’ve sent home the nurse.
We've cancelled the duck boats and summoned the hearse.
Do we have some fight left? If so, I’ll be terse.
Don’t be Arte Johnson: Be Ruth Buzzi’s purse.
Thanks for the shout-outs. It’s been fun to write verse.
SOSH has been a gift that I can’t reimburse.
I’m glad that we’ve all had this place to immerse
ourselves during games, so that we can disperse
stats, jokes, and insights while we infight and curse
bad plays and decisions and try to coerce
the Gods to grant wins, but things have gotten worse.
Though the team’s not dead yet, we’ve sent home the nurse.
We've cancelled the duck boats and summoned the hearse.
Do we have some fight left? If so, I’ll be terse.
Don’t be Arte Johnson: Be Ruth Buzzi’s purse.
Sox, and the man I sing, who, forc'd by whimsy,
And Chaim and Cora's relenting flimsy
Defenses and lineups, made gamethread poetry.
Long labors, both away and home, wrote he,
And in doubtful July, when we could win
We dreamed of fall, his stanzas made us kin;
Despite our endless pro- and anti- fights,
LynnRice's verses joined us day and night.
From whence our pitching began to sputter;
Our hearts beat that sick famil'r flutter.
O Bloom! the injuries and errors sting;
But why'd your deadline pass without a thing
Done to make our Red Sox (worse or) better?
Would that your toil matched our man of letters
And you'd bought us (or sold) some summer stars;
Instead, September Ls and downward WARs.
A fade with one succor, our poet's lines
Till we recite The Green Fields of the Mind.
And Chaim and Cora's relenting flimsy
Defenses and lineups, made gamethread poetry.
Long labors, both away and home, wrote he,
And in doubtful July, when we could win
We dreamed of fall, his stanzas made us kin;
Despite our endless pro- and anti- fights,
LynnRice's verses joined us day and night.
From whence our pitching began to sputter;
Our hearts beat that sick famil'r flutter.
O Bloom! the injuries and errors sting;
But why'd your deadline pass without a thing
Done to make our Red Sox (worse or) better?
Would that your toil matched our man of letters
And you'd bought us (or sold) some summer stars;
Instead, September Ls and downward WARs.
A fade with one succor, our poet's lines
Till we recite The Green Fields of the Mind.
The Rangers have lost three games in a row, the Sox have lost four.
I reckon the money's on the Sox to keep their streak intact.
I reckon the money's on the Sox to keep their streak intact.
Spring will be here soon for us my dear
It’s just around the bend
And Sale is on the mend (again)
Fenway Park is quiet in the dark
all that sweet green grass unchurned
While we wait for Story’s return
But someone left Yoshida in the rain
And I don’t think that I can take it
If Roman or Ceddane don’t make it
’Cause we’ll never have prospects like that again
OH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
I recall the yellow and blue tops
While the Head of Baseball Ops
Went the way of Theo, Ben and Dan(s)
Battles raged, over keeping Cora
While Mookie just racks up the WAR-a
Fenway Park is quiet in the dark
all that sweet green grass unchurned
While we wait for Story’s return
But someone left Yoshida in the rain
And I don’t think that I can take it
If Roman or Ceddane don’t make it
’Cause we’ll never have prospects like that again
OH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
It’s just around the bend
And Sale is on the mend (again)
Fenway Park is quiet in the dark
all that sweet green grass unchurned
While we wait for Story’s return
But someone left Yoshida in the rain
And I don’t think that I can take it
If Roman or Ceddane don’t make it
’Cause we’ll never have prospects like that again
OH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
I recall the yellow and blue tops
While the Head of Baseball Ops
Went the way of Theo, Ben and Dan(s)
Battles raged, over keeping Cora
While Mookie just racks up the WAR-a
Fenway Park is quiet in the dark
all that sweet green grass unchurned
While we wait for Story’s return
But someone left Yoshida in the rain
And I don’t think that I can take it
If Roman or Ceddane don’t make it
’Cause we’ll never have prospects like that again
OH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
See, Jim/Fred's season spent
Writing poems was meant
As a demonstration
That the season's merits
Lie in how one ferrets
Rhymes from our frustration.
Lyric follows loss
Which may not mean a toss.
Some may call for heads
Bemoaning these re-treads.
Though that may be the right
Of fans faced with our plight,
Lynn's musical appearance
Gives our sorrows clearance.
Writing poems was meant
As a demonstration
That the season's merits
Lie in how one ferrets
Rhymes from our frustration.
Lyric follows loss
Which may not mean a toss.
Some may call for heads
Bemoaning these re-treads.
Though that may be the right
Of fans faced with our plight,
Lynn's musical appearance
Gives our sorrows clearance.
Had to mute the kudos to Millar, whom I could do without on the broadcasts forever and ever, whichever comes first.
That sounds kind of like my story every year. Even though they are professional athletes, it's nice that I can identify with them from time to time.
It’s amazing that professional athletes can collectively shit themselves. There’s zero leaders on the team, their manager especially.
I dunno. There's a reason why so few major league hitters wear glasses. Hand-eye co-ordination is a big problem when one can't see.
When I was growing up, no one talking about country or rock and roll ever called them "genres." Times have changed.
