The verse is baller. The poem is baller. This is a masterpiece. A superior work. Tuner SHOULD NOT spend his time working on other things. They might be reciting this poem as a classic in the Great Book of Beat Downs in 1000 years time. May the Mar'ners issue a beat down worthy of such a poem, as the Bard of Taunts doth deign to wax so brightly.
Casey at the Bat -- or -- Rime of the 2017 Mariners ... 's all usually just a break here or there makes the difference between fame and just-fer-fun.
The original poem "Rime of the Ancient Mariner" speaks of a sailor (below, the 'umpire') back from an adventure. The sailor grabs a passerby (the victim-guest) by the elbow and slowly lulls him into the story, until the victim-guest buys in to the supernatural sense of foreboding. The sailor weaves a tale of a cumulative, gathering danger, which makes Tuner's little joke such a genius application for our AL enemies in 2017.
Tuner doesn't make it easy, but the Mainframe will add a few light annotations:
I am the ascendant Mariner,
And I striketh soon of thee.
by my whipsaw arm and crafty spin,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me? (1)
He looketh me with wav’ring eye—
My victim-guest stood still,
And listened like a three years' child
As the umpire spoke his ill. (2)
I flung without my iron hand,
“Where was the pitch?” quoth he.
“Hold off! unhand me, swift-thrown doom!”
Eftsoons he striketh three. (3)
My victim-guest sat on the bench:
He cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that umpire man,
Of the ascendant Mariner.
The inning came now to the home,
From out dugout came I
One Maniger bright, and with my might
Shot through the infield fly. (4)
The victim-Guest he beat his breast,
Yet he cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that umpire man,
Of the ascendant Mariner. (5)
Valencia came and I
Was tyrannous and strong:
I swung with my o'ertaking wings,
And wallop’d the ball er-long. (6)
My wroth was cheered, the bases cleared,
As Zunino did merrily pop
above the kirk, above the hill,
above the lighthouse top. (7)
Higher and higher with every swing,
Till over the mast at noon—'
The victim-guest here beat his breast,
For he heard the trump of doom.
My Gamelian strike into the ball,
Strong as an oxen free;
Nodding my head I swung their dread
A merry velocity
A good south wind sprung up behind;
Seagerian blast to follow,
And in every play, in daunting way,
The victim-guest did wallow (8)
With sloping soul and dipping heart,
As those pursued by dread
The foe sank fast, whimp’ring his last,
As downward aye he fled.
Thirteen to three, a mighty tree
As to a gangling sprout
I am the west divisions’ best,
victorious in the rout
The truth is here, the truth is there,
The truth is all around:
It cracks and growls, and roars and howls,
A reverberating sound
Rings out “Ascendant Mariner!”
From the crowd a joyous cry
Now all will know by bat and throw
Ascendant Mariner am I! (9)
(1) Best personified in Ariel Miranda, it sez here.
(2) Like an SSI denizen who didn't watch the games, but once he read about what was going on, couldn't help turning the TV on.
(3) Sometimes it's difficult to tell what a Great Art-iste is trying to get at. If he's referring to the umps' lack of respect for the M's, he's got my vote again. But it would be even better as a reference to Zeus, who cracked the first lightning-bolts of warning as to the M's intentions in October.
(4) The turns of phrase here are remarkable. Tuner is an English Lit major or frustrated novelist or ?
(5) A chorus or refrain: the idea is that DaddyO didn't want to watch, but his apathy turned to unwitting fascination turned to horror turned to belief in the mystical ...
(6) Valencia?! HEH
(7) Now c'mon. Following Zunino's back-wall shot. Was that verse not killer. Give it up.
(8) This Tuner guy needs to spend his estimable time in something more productive. I think we can all agree on that.
(9) K-Pax at seven, boys.
Jolly good shew,
Seriously guys, your comments made the poem much better... much different... but much better. *grins* It was based on the 13-3 game last Sunday. But I think I prefer Doc's interpretation. Makes it sound much cooler and more enigmatic.
Who said, I'd rather be lucky than good? :: wink :: No, your poem loaded with cool Mariner turns of phrase even if the "gathering storm" theme in the original is a coincidence for the 2017 season. Nice mastery of the language and of the Mariners in either case!
Tuner adapts The Ancient Mariner, Doc adapts Tuner. Result? Entertaining and apt.
For da record (and said with a smile), my not watching was primarily driven by dumping all cable/satellite when we moved in with our daughter and son-in-law just before the start of the season. My intent to follow the Dodgers was because a smaller investment in MLBtv did not allow me to watch Mariners' games, otherwise I would have continued watching them. Alas, the state of economic and media affairs in MLB these days is woeful in this regard.
That said, I did invoke the deeply frustrating history of the Mariners, especially over the last decade and a half, and I made lemonade out of lemons by turning from my more recent loyalty to my original one. The idea was that at least I would no longer have endure the daily and annual suffering of longtime Mariners' fans. I did recognize the irony that this came just as the team finally seemed to have a GM worth his salt, and seemed to have a team fully capable of breaking the succession of playoff-less seasons.
As it turns out, when my son-in-law is home and awake (he works a graveyard shift) we are able to watch Mariners' games live using a VPN server based in Lower Slobbovia (Al Capp fans will recognize this location). So I probably see most or all of two or three Mariners games a week, and I have not followed the Dodgers at all.
The experience of watching games this year is different than most recent seasons in that the highs are higher. When this team plays up to it's capabilities it looks like the whole team is Zeus and the opponent nothing but a receptor for lightning bolts. Another comparison would be to the Harlem Globetrotters and the Washington Generals. You see games like this and you convince yourself the Mariners are poised to break out and demolish the league, surging into the playoffs (this could yet happen). I can't tell you how many times I have watched in awe of the Mariners' incredible offensive capabilities.
But the lows seem lower by contrast because of that obvious potential for greatness. Last night's game is a perfect example. Opposing meatball pitchers look like aces all too often. Our often awesome hitters take fastballs for strikes and flail at breaking pitches in the dirt. When they are bad, they are awful, so much so they become unwatchable for me. I can't tell you how many times I have excused myself from watching the game because I can't take it any more.
So I am Jeckyll and Hyde, just like this team is Jeckyll and Hyde. But the only team I have been following this year is the Mariners. I just haven't seen as many games as in years past.
Back to The Ancient Mariner, highly entertaining. When you read literature from days long gone you are struck with the depth and genius of most of it.
BTW Doc, hope your maladies are kept at bay. You have no idea how much we appreciate that you have, virtually speaking, invited us all to your house repeatedly hollered over and over again, "Y'all come back now, y'hear?!" And this despite challenges we know little or nothing about. So consider this a word of encouragement from one who understands and appreciation from one who, uh, APPRECIATES you. You are NOT taken for granted.
Doing my best to center life south from 160th Street, from Meridian (as few times as possible) to Canyon Rd (which is nearer our house). The only trouble is that sector is increasingly becoming just as busy as the one farther north, with tons of new construction in evidence that will only make it worse. But since we are now joined at the hip with our daughter and son-in-law, we may be moving to Phoenix or Texas, or some such place sooner than we thought.
In honor of Puyallup traffic, I bring all SSI party-attendees a link to an appropriate song by James Taylor.