Mets Sonnet Won in Bet
Ainsley's from Long Island, and she was raised a Yankees fan. I hate the Yankees. In my head, they represent every arrogant pus I've ever encountered. My father is from Queens. Our Met adoration goes back three generations.
Ainsley and I thought this all was reason enough to give each other schoolyard verbal brow beatings once this mid-season Subway Series kicked off a few days ago. To put more on the line, we named stakes. When the Mets took it (15 to 6), Ainsley had to write me a sonnet about the Mets, and it could not portray them negatively in any way. Within twenty minutes of the final pitch, this hit my email:My Sonnet in (mostly) English Sonnet form. Titled "Fuck You, Simon, I Will See You Wear A Tie" Or "Whatever, The Yankees Are Better Anyway. Dick."
It is Friday, and the first game's done
Dan Giese's pitching really sucked a lot
And so the match up wasn't fairly won
Carlos Delgado's bat was just too hot
And made River Avenue look more like Shea.
David Wright lived up to his name in the sixth
Even despite the error by Mike Pelfrey
And Giambi's bat smashed into sticks
The Yankees still couldn't pick up the pace.
Hell, so much was wrong, beginning with
Edwar Ramirez having Flava Flav's face
And then we left two men on in the fifth.
God, so much of it is a fucking shame
But at least it's baseball, just a game.
Dan Giese's pitching really sucked a lot
And so the match up wasn't fairly won
Carlos Delgado's bat was just too hot
And made River Avenue look more like Shea.
David Wright lived up to his name in the sixth
Even despite the error by Mike Pelfrey
And Giambi's bat smashed into sticks
The Yankees still couldn't pick up the pace.
Hell, so much was wrong, beginning with
Edwar Ramirez having Flava Flav's face
And then we left two men on in the fifth.
God, so much of it is a fucking shame
But at least it's baseball, just a game.
Love,
Ainsley
This was a knuckleball to my brain. Totally more than I expected. I just wish I had stipulated that it had to be written longhand. I'd matte, frame and hang that thing on the wall, covered in an aegis of magical glow, the magic beamed exquisitely by a track lighting system that requires a remote and a manual.
The next game, she won the privilege of watching me do 20 push-ups, my upper half bare and slathered in baby oil. I know, the thought of it grosses me out too. She's already purchased the baby oil, but I haven't delivered on it yet. I'll spare you updates when I do. In fact, it will never be mentioned again.
+SGAinsley
