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WSI News - Post of the Week

Post of the Week

"Once upon a long night dreary, while I pondered, tired and beery
Over many an odd and trivial matter of old White Sox lore,
While I nodded, idly scowling, suddenly there came a growling,
As of someone's noisy howling, howling at the bullpen door.
"'Tis some groundskeeper," I muttered, "howling at the bullpen door.
Only this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I recall it, when the bat was on the ball it
Brought such noise above the wall it brought the runner home to score.
Eagerly I wished the new day; - vainly I had cried a "hoo-ray"
From my seat along the aisleway (aisleways whose clutter I abhor)
For the rare and radiant pitcher whom the coaches named NoScore -
Nameless here for evermore.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `NoScore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `NoScore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Open here they flung the bullpen, when, from what had been a fool-pen,
There had stepped a stately southpaw of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with thousands going crazy, took his spot amid the roar -
Perched upon a rubber stepstone just above mounded floor -
Perched, and stood, and nothing more.

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the man whose fiery eyes now burned into the batter's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the seatback's plastic lining that the park-light gloated o'er,
But the scoreboard's animations with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
We shall see, ah, nevermore!

Pitcher!' said I, `thing of evil! - pitcher still, if player or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that Oz we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow burning if, with stomach slowly churning,
He shall clasp a happy scorecard that indicates No Score -
Clasp a rare and treasured scorecard, where the others do not score?'
Quoth the pitcher, `Nevermore.'

And the pitcher, never saving, strikes a-craving, still is shaving
On the fuzzy edge of strikezone just above the batter's floor;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the park-light o'er him streaming as he yields an ugly score;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

(With apologies to E. A. Poe. He had to have been a Sox fan.)"

-- tebman replying to a thread about Sox poetry.

"Boy oh boy, what I wouldn't do right now for a plate of barbeque ribs and an ice-cold Falstaff."

-- Harry Caray doing the call from Comiskey's broadcast booth."

Let's Go Sox!

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