A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing A flowery band to bind us to the earth, Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth Of noble natures, of the gloomy days, Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon, Trees old, and young, sprouting a shady boon For simple sheep; and such are daffodils With the green world they live in; and clear rills That for themselves a cooling covert make 'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake, Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms: And such too is the grandeur of the dooms We have imagined for the mighty dead; All lovely tales that we have heard or read: An endless fountain of immortal drink, Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.
Nor do we merely feel these essences
For one short hour; no, even as the trees
That whisper round a temple become soon
Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon,
The passion poesy, glories infinite,
Haunt us till they become a cheering light
Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast
That, whether there be shine or gloom o'ercast,
They always must be with us, or we die. --John Keats, Endymion
The Web stomping grounds of Red Sox Nation are abuzz this morning. Ed's entry this morning is a paean to Manny Ramirez's home run. Dirt Dogs asks, "Todd who?" Surviving Grady declares, "you couldn't have scripted a better night".
Even the CHB is affecting something like joy, although you can never quite tell if it's actually sarcasm, and anyway, Shaughnessy trying to be happy is like Bill Belichik trying to dance.
No matter. This morning we're one big happy, and we're putting the "fun" back in dysfunctional. Over at BC the chatter is about which moment last night was more beautiful: Curt's K in the seventh with the bases loaded, Varitek's double, Manny's home run, Bellhorn's RBI?
What delicious arguments.
We have, as Ed once wrote, "become transcendent and sacred in that moment."
Then there's that magical Fenway sound, the one that you don't hear anywhere else, the one that sounds like the celtic battle cries in Braveheart: "yyyyyyyYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH..."
The goosebumps never fail.
Manny recently wrote something interesting about the hitting prowess that's brought us so much joy on his Web Forum:
Hitting is not easy. So much has to happen correctly with your body for you to hit the ball hard to every part. Of course, if a pitcher is behind, the zone I cover is smaller, so my body is ready to make a stronger swing. If the pitcher is ahead, I have to be more flexible, to let my body extend or move back with the pitch, so I can put the fat part of the bat on the ball. But the most important thing is to see the ball and move with it. I react to the ball because I want to hit it as hard as possible. If it's inside, you hit it hard to left; if it's outside the power is to right. So my philosophy is see the ball and dance with the ball, like if it was a very fast Merengue!
Today, we're just dancing along.