I ‘spose I should be more than willing
To celebrate the mighty Schilling…
After all the autumn games
He won, I guess that no one blames
Him that he didn’t pitch last year
While hauling in eight million clear
For throwing not a single strike…
Still, there was much for fans to like
About old Curt, now forty two,
Who did just what he said he’d do
And helped the Sox to win, not once
But twice. You’d have to be a dunce
To fail to see the way he mattered,
Valiant, with his sock bespattered,
Bloody, vanquishing New York,
As in, hey, stick ‘em with a fork
They’re done, as were the flightless Cards.
May Schilling’s deeds inspire bards
More worthy than your humble host…
Still, what I guess I’ll think of most
When I think “Schilling” will not be
His sock, or each great victory
Or that he’d won in Phoenix, too,
And helped the Phillies muddle through
Until they found themselves again…
No, what I’ll be remem’bring when
I think of Schilling will be how
He told the nation, “Listen, now
Go re-elect the president,”
That was the message that he sent…
And I am not inclined, I guess,
To heed old pitchers when they mess
In politics. They leave the mound,
It’s okay if there’s not a sound
From pitchers. That’s the way I feel,
Although it was a dif’frent deal
Some years ago, when William Lee
Was pitching here in Boston, see,
Bill Lee was funny, self-effacing,
Days would come when he was gracing
Pages that were meant for sports
With the different kinds and sorts
Of thoughts he had and things he’d do…
And Schilling told us that stuff, too,
But Bill? Original was he,
While Schilling, as it seemed to me,
Would blog for blogging’s sake a lot.
Will he stop now? Or will he not?
His day job’s over. With the time
To fill will he blog more, say, I’m
Inclined to wish if that’s the way
It’s going to go, he should still play.
