TCR Poetry Corner - The Billy Goat
(With all respect for, and apologies to, Edgar Allan Poe's "The Raven")
The Billy Goat
Once upon an evening dreary, while I watched a sad conspiracy -
One of many cruel and curious volumes of Chicago lore,
While I nodded, nearly snoozing, modestly I started musing
at their newfound ways of losing, losing at victory's door.
"'Tis the manager," I muttered, "balking at victory's door -
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak September,
And each separate stranded runner wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From the blogs surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Prior -
for the rare and radiant pitcher whom the angels named Prior -
Nameless here for evermore
And the doughy visage leaning from the dugout's edge
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"Is that some manager entreating that we walk through victory's door?
Some old manager entreating that we walk through victory's door?
Could this be, so help me lord?"
Presently my soul grew stronger, hestitating then no longer,
"d00d," typed I, on a blog, "truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was snoozing, and so gently Lou resisted losing,
And so humbly Lou came musing, musing about victory's door,
that I scarce was sure I heard Lou - where is my tuner? On the floor."
The mute was on, "oh drat" I swore.
Deep into cyberspace peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the T.V. gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Prior."
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Prior!"
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into my apartment turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a barking somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "Surely that is something in my internet browser;
Let me see then what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis a Windows Error, and nothing more!"
Open here I flung Mozilla, where, with many a spurt and sputter,
In there popped up a hairy goat of the Wrigley days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my Windows taskbar -
Perched upon a .jpg of Dallas, the Cubs GM in days of yore -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this billy goat beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the mangy and ripe decorum of the coat of hair it wore,
"Though thy hair be beyond hope, thou," I said, "art sure no dope.
Ghastly grim and ancient goat wandering from Lake Michigan's shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on that famous tavern's door!"
Bleat the billy goat, "Ball Four."
Much I marveled this ungainly mammal to hear discourse so plainly
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing goat above his Windows taskbar -
Bird or beast above the GM's picture above his Windows taskbar,
With such name as "Ball Four."
But the goat, sitting lonely on the placid .jpg, spoke only,
That one phrase, as if his soul in that one term he did outpour.
Nothing further then he bleated - not a tin can then he eated -
Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other files have disappeared before -
On the morrow will he leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the goat said, "Ball Four."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy manager whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
of "Ball - Ball Four."
But the billy goat still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled my cheap desk chair in front of goat and .jpg and taskbar;
Then, upon the pleather sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous goat of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous goat of yore
Meant in bleating out "Ball Four."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the beast whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the desk chair's pleathered lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose pleathered black lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
He shall rest, ah, nevermore!
Then, mehtought, the air grew fouler, perfumed from an unseen cursor
Spewed by Elia, whose expletives rained on the shag-carpeted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "the Tribune hath lent thee - by corporate suits it has sent thee.
Respite - respite and malt liquor from thy memories of Prior!
Quaff, oh quaff this cheap malt liquor, and forget this lost Prior!"
Bleat the billy goat, "Ball Four."
"Prophet!" sad I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, if goat or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this ivy field enchanted -
On these friendly confines by horror haunted - tell me truly, I impore -
Is there such thing as a "pitching prospect?" - tell me - tell me, I implore!"
Bleat the billy goat, "Ball Four."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil - prophet still, if goat or devil!
By that press box that bends above us - by that Caray we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Hall of Fame,
It shall induct a sainted pitcher whom the angels named Prior -
Induct a rare and radiant pitcher, whom the angels named Prior?"
Bleat the billy goat, "Ball Four."
"Be that term our sign of parting, goat or fiend!" I shrieked upstarting -
"Get thee back into the tempest and Chicago's Michigan shore!
Leave no black poop as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the .jpg above my taskbar!
Take thy horns from out my heart, and take thy form from off my browser!"
Bleat the billy goat, "Ball Four."
And the goat, never lifting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid .jpg of Dallas just above my Windows taskbar:
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the desk-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
To compare my knock-off with the original, click here
*The inspiration behind The Billy Goat comes from none other than legendary Cubs employee Heinie Massman. As TCR readers know, Heinie was present at the actual Billy Goat incident in 1945. In our conversations, he off-handedly remarked that the Cubs are the greatest American Gothic masterpiece since The Raven.
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