Monster — An Ode to 2026

’Twas brillig on Jersey Street
 The fans roared loud and rumbled,
In Fenway’s yard where the faithful played
 all eager, loud, and jumbled;

The Green Monster looms in left field deep,
 its shadow cold and wide,
It calls to every driven sweep,
 then sends it screaming back inside.

“Beware the Sox, my son!” they cried,
 “you’ve heard the echo of that sound—
Beware the Monster looming green,
 no lead stays safe on Fenway’s ground!”

Its mouth is wide for frozen ropes,
 it spits them back with steam—
Few balls escape that towering wall
 or strike the ladder’s beam!

And now the lineup takes its shape,
 as names are called out clear,
From glove to bat, from plate to field,
 each set to start the year.

Mayer, sure and quick of hand,
 now shifted o’er the field,
At second base he takes his place
 with more yet to be revealed.

And Story, veteran at short,
 commands the infield true,
A steady voice on every play
 to guide the whole thing through.

Together up the middle set,
 they make the double play,
From pivot turn to throw across
 they take the hit away.

And Durbin, new at third with poise,
 where hot shots come in fast,
He fields them clean and fires across,
 and gets them all at last.

And now Contreras held at first with strength,
 a steady glove to guide,
Through long and winding plays he stretched
 and anchored every side.

Young Anthony, with fearless swing,
 charged through right field air,
And eyed fair shots by Pesky’s Pole
 as balls flew whistling there;

Duran worked ’neath the towering wall,
 where hard-hit balls collide,
“The Lizard,” keeper of the wall,
 played every turn in stride.

And Rafaela roamed center field,
 where nothing slips between,
A Gold Glove guard with lightning step,
 the finest ever seen.

And Abreu mashed with power loud,
 and lit the springtime scene,
For Venezuela he drove them on
 and crowned them world supreme.

And Crochet took the mound with force,
 and showed the mark of ace,
A southpaw arm no bat could read
 that dictated the game’s pace.

New faces now in Boston red
 step forward, set to go,
With Suárez smooth and Gray beside,
 the rubber each does tow.

And when the starter’s work was done,
 and late innings went to the wire,
With Whitlock, Weissert, Watson set,
 each set and ready for the fire.

But oh! when twilight’s inning came
 and tension filled the air,
The Monster seemed to lean and grin
 at all who ventured there;

Last, Chapman strode with thunderbolts—
 his fastball scorched the night—
And shut the door with blazing heat
 no bat could dare to fight!

From dugout steps where Cora stands,
 he guides them through the game,
While Breslow builds from up above
 the vision all the same.

Now winter’s past, its ghosts are gone—
 warm weather close at hand,
The ledger wiped, the count now drawn—
 a brand new season soon to stand.

Yet still that beast stands tall and waits,
 through sun and chilling air,
To test the bold, the strong of swing—
 beware it, and take care!

And hast thou seen the faithful throng,
 all burst into cheer?
The Royal Rooters, loud and proud—
 their voices ringing clear!

No past defeat nor haunted year
 can hold what’s just begun—
For even beasts must bow at last—
 a brand new season won!

’Twas brillig on Jersey Street,
 and hope rang through the air,
The Monster loomed—but so did they,
 each ready for the dare;

The season stretched before them wide,
 the road ahead is clear—
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!
 Opening Day is here!