The return of the Poet Lariat

[Zorro]

with a nod to S T Coleridge. Zorro is nodding out, so I, the Poet Lariat, slip through the fog of the outer reaches to commandeer his keyboard to present for your entertainment;

The Rhyme of the Ancient Husky Fan
(being a sad lament on the current state of affairs in Storrs, CT)

It was an ancient Husky fan, who laid her hand on me.
"By thy bright blue hair and thy mournful eye, now wherefore stopp'st thou me?"
She held me with her gnarl-ed hand, I could not break away
But stayed, perforce, to listen to what she might have to say.

"Oh Stewie is gone to the pros", she wailed, "Moriah and Morgan too.
And who is going to save the day? Oh, what are we going to do?
For our personnel is passing thin, and for the most part untried,
And Muffet and Kim and Dawn and all, are itching to tan our hide!

"Oh who is going to score for us?", this sorrowful lady cried
"And who will swat the shots away, when our guards get left behind?
We have pounded all others for all these years, and now must we pay the cost,
By getting our Husky asses kicked, now the fabulous three are lost?

For the others all hate Geno, and have hated him from old.
He was the first who ever burst the Evil Empires hold!
And Stewie and Morg and Moriah, for lo these many years
Have savaged their teams mercilessly, and reduced their fans to tears.

And now that we stand weakened, without the dauntless three
They are lining up for vengeance, to kick our butts with glee.
The Leprechauns and the Longhorns, and the Bears and the Turtles too
Are lining up to mash us! Oh what are we going to do?

The Three' have gone and left us, and we are sore bereft.
And it grieves my heart to think about the little we have left.
For Lou is a one trick pony, and Kia fouls too much
And Crystal is a freshman and will probably play as such.

Saniya is inconsistent, and Gabby can't shoot the ball
And Butler is soft and slow of foot, and Pheesa can't do it all!
So that is why I sit and weep, and that is why I'm sad.
For our winning days are over, and it's going to hurt so bad!"

Then she re-commenced to wail, much louder than before
Whilst I slipped silently away, to not distress her more.
And I shed a silent tear myself, with sympathy consumed,
For it grieved me so to know that her beloved team was DOOMED!

 

[UcMiami]

Ah, the master has returned to ease those gods of mojo.
Bravo.

 

[Zorro]

And Father O'Malley sends his kind regards from the land of the shades.
(This is for the old, old hands with good memories.)

 

[msf22b]

Wonderful, Zorro, many thanks.

M

 

[Gus Mahler]

Yes, bravo. I was roped in from the start.

 

[tomcat]

Wow. That was really well done.

 

[Florida Fan]

Oh poet touch the gnarled hand and wipe that wrinkled brow,
Excitement reigns in UCONN land,
Our future team is NOW.

 

[JS]

Yes, bravo. I was roped in from the start.

Me too.

The poet's return is good noose.

 

[Zorro]

The P L thanks Gus & J S for their pungent comments.

 

[Kibitzer]

Me too.

The poet's return is good noose.

Bravo to Zorro!

Can we now hope for an "Ode to * * * * "?

 

[Zorro]

Mr. Kibs; Please do not conflate me, the Poet Lariat, with Zorro, the nebbish! He and I used to inhabit the same keyboard, but when Nan, in her infinite wisdom, decreed that only one persona was allowable, I, along with Father O'Malley and many other worthy Boneyard avatars was banished to the outer darkness. It is only at times when Zorro is even more than usually mentally incapacitated that I am able to slip through the wormhole in Zorro' brain, as it were, and resume my rightful place. As Zorro gets even older and stupider, perhaps those occasions will become more frequent. Or not. But, in any case, Zorro is Zorro, who probably could not find a rhyme for cat in a rhyming dictionary, and I am the Poet Lariat who, in all humility, must apologize for the use of "rhyme" rather than "rime" in the title of my little ditty. I never know how long my periods of control will last, and I was rushed. Ta ta for now. ( Odes I will have to think about. Perhaps J S could be of some help. He at least understands that even doggerel has to scan!)

 

[meyers7]

Well I hope Zorro never gets himself a good computer password, because it's great to see the Poet Lariat return.

 

[Kibitzer]

My turn? For

Mr. Kibs; Please do not conflate me, the Poet Lariat, with Zorro, the nebbish! He and I used to inhabit the same keyboard, but when Nan, in her infinite wisdom, decreed that only one persona was allowable, I, along with Father O'Malley and many other worthy Boneyard avatars was banished to the outer darkness. It is only at times when Zorro is even more than usually mentally incapacitated that I am able to slip through the wormhole in Zorro' brain, as it were, and resume my rightful place. As Zorro gets even older and stupider, perhaps those occasions will become more frequent. Or not. But, in any case, Zorro is Zorro, who probably could not find a rhyme for cat in a rhyming dictionary, and I am the Poet Lariat who, in all humility, must apologize for the use of "rhyme" rather than "rime" in the title of my little ditty. I never know how long my periods of control will last, and I was rushed. Ta ta for now. ( Odes I will have to think about. Perhaps J S could be of some help. He at least understands that even doggerel has to scan!)

Senor Zorro -- May I take a turn? For old times' sake?

There once was a poet named Lariat.
Just rode back in a bright flag blue chariot.
He's been away for awhile,
So he explained, with a smile,
"I've been camped at the local Hotel Marriott!"​

 

[hjoerring]

We have it all-- high poetry on the boneyard, and on the courts Uconn's women are carrying out a revolution. Cannot be better.

 

[Zorro]

Don't conflate high poetry with low doggerel.

 

[Zorro]

Kibs; Odes are very tricky things, much trickier than doggerel, which almost writes itself. Nevertheless, here are a couple of partials, being odes to certain 'Yarders, fortunately few in number, whose glasses are always half-empty or worse.

Hail to thee, snide spirit. fan thou never wer't
that from dumpster, or near it
pourest thy full spleen
in profuse strains of unalleviated doubt.

-------------------------------------------------------

Thou still unchastened harbinger of doom
Thou foster child of misery and dispair
Crabb-ed historian, who can'st express
Misfortune lurking ever just beyond,
Forever shalt thou carp, and be unfair!
Negativity is truth is truth, truth negative, is all
Ye know of life, and all you'll ever know

 

[Husky fanatic]

This should be published. Well done and very entertaining.

 

[Zorro]

You misspelled "punished".

 

[Kibitzer]

Boneyarders with less than a decade of association with this unique message board may be a bit confused as well as amused to read these voices from the ancient past, now momentarily reincarnate. Rimes, odes, poetry, magazine covers, pithy limericks -- all precursors to the more recent surge of analytics, music preferences and dissection of recruit projections or individual player performance.

It's been a great long ride. I love staying on board.

 

[Zorro]

Well, yes. Back in the day, you could have as many personas as you wished. And a few hard cases, such as I and Wonkster and a few others. had a marvelous time with it. You could assume any sort of persona that you found useful and amusing (to yourself). Some of you newbies probably have not even heard of Wonkster, as he is seldom seen these recent days, but he was a real cut-up, and his Father O'Malley (from, of course, "Going My Way" (which you also may not have heard of; Bing Crosby and Barry Fitzgerald, whom you may also not have heard of, a real heart-warming tear jerker), Wonks' Fr. O'Malley always had some outrageous folk-wisdom to impart, and was hilarious. But then, when Nan was forced to tighten up the rules (this was long before JS and Biff became mods), the good Father and the Poet Lariat and all of the other characters had to go. Occasionally the PL sneaks back across the Rainbow Bridge, or whatever it is, and takes control of my mind and keyboard. Father O'Malley, that good man, unfortunately, has not been heard from since, on this side at least.