With all these holiday poems kickin' around, I remembered a great poem I read a few months ago, which I forgot to mention here. It's by Barry Hoberman, and it's about the greatest holiday of all. It features the names of a lot of old Sox players. That's what always gets me right in the tear ducts--hearing all the names of the past, and thinking back to when they played, and all the happiness they provided us with, amidst the overall sadness of never winning the World Series. I think of Dwight Evans innocently cacthing a ball in 1982, and I wonder what I'd say to him if I could go back. I'd probably just grit my teeth and say, "Go get 'em, Dewey," knowing he'd never get a ring--as a player, anyway. Kind of like that Quantum Leap episode when Sam goes back in time and wants to sing "Imagine" to some little girl before it was written, but Al's like, "Don't do it, man." I think he did it anyway. Terrible job, Sam. Also, Scott Bakula doesn't sing very well.

Read the poem here.

My favorite part:

Leslie Sterling--she was heady;
Worcester's Gedman--he was Geddy.

How cool is that? Gedman gets paired with Leslie Sterling. She was Fenway's (and the American League's) first female public address announcer, who went on to be a minister or something. It's very hard to find info about her on the web, which is a shame.