Much has been written of the Bambino’s curse,
Mostly in prose, this time in verse.
How for over nine decades, Red Sox fortunes have waned.
Luckless! Futile! Their “Faithful” left drained.
According to lore, the stage was set
When Frazee needed cash for “No! No! Nanette.”
The Broadway musical that would surely fail
Unless the Sox owner put Ruth up for sale.
Along came the Yankees with an open checkbook!
One hundred “K” – How the baseball gods shook!
“No! No! Harry!” Pleas fell on deaf ears.
Such was the genesis for future failures and tears.
The Babe in New York spelled instant success –
While the Bombers won more, the Beantowners less.
As one dynasty grew – 26 series wins –
Our team bewitched by Seventh Game chagrins.
The first was a “Slaughter,” at least that was his name.
Scored from first on a single, Cards won the game!
Twenty one years later “Yaz” hit a ton,
But Gibson threw bullets and the Sox were undone.
In ’75, Cincinnati’s Big Red Machine
Descended on Fenway and its Monster of Green.
Fisks’s shot to left, fair by a wave,
Just wasn’t enough our BoSox to save.
The jinx crescendoed in ’86,
Sox versus Mets, did you have any ‘tix?
The cosmos was poised, Boston up three to two,
Then Buckner’s misplay, the rest deja vous.
But in 2004, profound jubilation!
Sox beat the Cards, in “The Nation,” elation!
Pull up that hearse, the curse is dead,
After 86 years, let no more be said.