[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 150 (2004), Part 19]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Page 25746]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]




                        THE CURSE HAS STRUCK OUT

                                 ______
                                 

                         HON. EDWARD J. MARKEY

                            of massachusetts

                    in the house of representatives

                       Tuesday, December 7, 2004

  Mr. MARKEY. Mr. Speaker, in celebration of the victory of the Red Sox 
in the World Series, I have an offering for the House, with apologies 
to Ernest L. Thayer entitled, ``The Curse Has Struck Out.''

     The outlook wasn't guaranteed for the Red Sox nine this year
     Since 1918 our boys had left us crying in our beer.
     And when they lost twice in New York, and then at home again
     A pall-like silence fell over the loyal Red Sox fans.
     A straggling few got up to go in deep despair.
     ``Wait 'til next year,'' they said. Resignation filled the 
           air.
     The rest clung to that hope that springs eternal in the human 
           breast.
     ``It ain't over 'til it's over'' they muttered half in jest.
     They thought, ``If only our boys could put some bat on that 
           ball,
     We'd put Bambino's curse to rest once and for all.''
     But then Ortiz let fly a homer, to the wonderment of all.
     And Johnny Damon, bases loaded, tore the cover off the ball.
     And when the dust had lifted on that memorable night
     We had come back from three games down, the Curse was in our 
           sights.
     Then from all of Red Sox Nation's throats there rose a wild 
           call,
     It echoed on the Common, it shook Faneuil Hall.
     It pounded on the River Charles, and splashed upon the Bay,
     The Yankees were all through, kaput, a World Series we would 
           play.
     And they rolled out to St. Louis, jewel of the Midwest.
     The Cards had won their league with ease, but now they faced 
           a test.
     Were they ready for the Boston boys? The town was dressed in 
           red.
     The fans could not be nicer, the team was so well led.
     But the Red Sox took the first three games, competing nobly 
           one and all.
     They overcame their errors, they answered every call.
     And as Game Four proceeded, and a Series win now loomed,
     All New England shivered with the thought we might still be 
           doomed.
     Henry shifted in his seat, Hope in Werner burned,
     Epstein checked his numbers, Lucchino's stomach churned.
     What deus ex machina would fall down from the sky?
     What Bucky Dent-Bill Buckner ghost might steer things all 
           awry?
     Keith Foulke climbed up upon the mound, ball burning in his 
           hand.
     The Curse stepped up to face him, to make a final stand.
     There was ease in the Curse's manner as he stepped into his 
           place.
     There was pride in Bambino's bearing, a smile on the Curse's 
           face.
     And when, responding to his fans, he lightly doffed his hat,
     No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas the Curse at the 
           bat.
     A nation's eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt.
     60,000 tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
     Then, while Foulke rubbed the ball into his shifty hip,
     Defiance flashed in the Curse's eye, a sneer curled on his 
           lip.
     And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the 
           air,
     And the Curse stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
     Close by the portly batsman the ball unheeded sped--
     ``I just can't hit that,'' said the Curse. ``Strike one!'' 
           the umpire said.
     From the canyons of Manhattan, there rose a muffled roar.
     New York fans were screaming, ``Would the Curse really be no 
           more?''
     ``Kill him, kill the umpire,'' they shouted in Yankee land.
     The Curse looked smug. In 86 years the Curse had never 
           fanned.
     With a smile of overconfidence, the Curse's visage shone.
     He stilled the rising tumult, he bade the game go on.
     He signaled the Red Sox closer, and once more the dun sphere 
           flew,
     But the Curse couldn't hit it, and the umpire said, ``Strike 
           two.''
     ``It's over,'' thought the Cardinals fans, who are brought up 
           so well.
     But the Curse gave a scornful look and an eerie silence fell.
     They saw his face frown stern and cold, they saw his muscles 
           strain.
     And they really thought the Curse wouldn't let that ball go 
           by again.
     The sneer has fled from the Curse's lip, the teeth are 
           clenched in hate.
     He pounds, with cruel violence, his bat upon the plate.
     And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
     And now the air is shattered by the force of the Curse's 
           blow.
     Oh, all across this favored land the sun is shining bright.
     The band is playing happily and our hearts are oh so light.
     And Red Sox Nation smiles and laughs, and little children 
           shout.
     And there is pure joy in Beantown--
     The Curse has struck out.

                          ____________________