Some of you may have noticed that the Cheese were not exactly a triumph in 2020. That’s not a new trend, of course. But in past years it has been the inspiration for a lament, usually near the beginning of August.
This year, that didn’t happen. The season was too short, for one thing. For another, there were so many other bad things happening in our world that I just couldn’t work up the proper grumpiness about the Cheese.
What began forming in my head was a lament for the world for 2020. Of course long-time readers of annual Cheese laments know that they typically end with a word or two of hope, just like a lament from the book of Psalms. And I do have hope for the world – but my hope is a spiritual one. So that hope is reflected in this year’s lament. I have hope for the Cheese as well – wait ’til next year!
A Lament for 2020
Sing the song of twenty-twenty,
Politics and plague and fire,
Wear your mask and skip the handshake,
Close the church; disband the choir.
City streets have known the violence,
Outrage, shootings, and the rest,
Most of us just sit in silence
Praying that we’ll pass the test.
Baseball’s not the most important,
But we need something to do.
We can guide our EFL teams
Hope our draft picks will come through.
Take the Cheese, just for example,
Cottage should have won with ease,
Severino, Shohei, Paddack,
That’s a staff that’s sure to please.
Shohei’s arm, and Luis’, failed them,
Sophomore Chris Paddack slumped,
Sean Manaea failed to come back,
Danny Duffy had me stumped.
So our pitching wasn’t stellar,
Neither was our hitting great,
But we stayed out of the cellar,
And there’s hope for next year’s fate.
We will shed some weighty contracts,
We will draft some better Cheese,
We will get some healthy pitchers,
First place will be ours to seize.
Is there hope for twenty-twenty?
How ’bout twenty-twenty-one?
Where is God in all these troubles?
He’s still here; His work’s not done.
Yes, our God is still in heaven
He’s our hope for all our days
I’m so glad He holds our future,
But we must walk in His ways.
Our God’s season’s not been shortened,
His plan is its normal length,
Cheese may lose, but God will triumph,
His arm’s strong, and gives us strength.
Let us trust the God who saves us,
Trust him with this year and next,
Listen to His voice that guides us,
Pray to Him, and read His text!
We were glad for 2020
It became our best year yet
But unless we get more offense
First place we can just forget
Thanks for poeming us again, Dave.
The Drive is sympathetic – much
When it comes to rhyming prowess
You so come through in the clutch
This is surely a lament for our times, including how it reflects the bewilderment of our days.
Did you ever notice that the heart of the word “bewilderment” is “wild”? “Wilderment” would mean something close to “wilderness” – a trackless untamed place. “Wilderment”, applied to people, would mean “totally lost in an untamed place.” “Bewilderment” would describe suddenly finding oneself in a trackless untamed place. Which is where the Wolverine management would be right now with the shockingly bad performance of its team — even if wasn’t 2020.
Oddly — having it be 2020 means the bizarre EFL season seemed to fit right in, like somehow it holds a key to making everything coherent. This probably totally wrong, the ruminations of a primitive human being trying to see messages in the stars.