As some of you know, I grew up as a sports fan in California and remain, to this day, a fan of the San Francisco Giants baseball team. My dad took me to my first game in 1955 when the Giants played an exhibition game in L.A. against the Cleveland Indians. Willie Mays became my hero and I was hooked. Thank God the Indians didn't have a star player like Willie or I might still be rooting for them after all these years.
In India, from time to time I check out how my old team has been doing and, by gosh, the Giants played well this year, against all odds, and actually won the National League pennant. I couldn't help myself from getting up real early and checking on the internet to see how they were doing in the World Series, which they ended up winning. So, in honor of their victory, I penned a poem with sincere apologies to Paramhansa Yogananda, my guru, for borrowing from his classic masterpiece.
Samadhi! The Giants Win the World Series.
Vanished the veils of light and shade,
Lifted 56 years of sorrow,
Sailed away all dawns of fleeting joy,
Gone, the false playoff mirage.
Richardson, Terry, Maldonado, Spec,
Perished these false shadows on the screen of duality.
Spezio's homer, the '89 earthquake, all the bad trades,
Melting in a vast sea of bliss.
The storm of heartache stilled.
With joy did my tearful eyes weep,
"It's high! It's long! It's outta here!
When Uribe went deep.
Memories from the past, no longer lurk,
Ready to invade my newly found World Series joy.
Lamaster, Ivie, Sadecki, Deer,
Koufax and Drysdale, no more for me,
New names I now enshrine
In my newly awakened memory divine.
Good Johnny, Posey, Cain, Huff,
"Let Timmy Smoke" Lincecum,
Zito, Freddy, Torres, Burrell,
Fear the Beard, the Panda, Ross and Bum,
Candlestick's howling winds,
Hotdog wrappers on the fence,
Freezing my fanny year after year,
How many times in second place?
The Cream and the Clear,
Lariano and Nathan thrown away,
Every hope eventually dashed.
Solomon Torres on the very last day.
Anger, despair, bad to worse, another year's bust,
I swallowed, transmuted all
Into an ocean of joy with this year's win.
Smoldering hope, oft-puffed by another torturous game,
Blinding my tearful eyes,
Burst into immortal flames of bliss,
Consumed my tears, my frame, my all
When Renteria hit the long ball.
Thou art the Champs, I the Happy Fan,
My beloved Giants have at last Won!
Tranquilled, unbroken thrill, eternally thankful I now have peace!
Enjoyable beyond imagination of expectancy, Championship bliss!
Is this but a subconscious dream
Or mental chloroform without willful return,
Have I inhaled San Francisco "herbs," awaiting a fall,
No, it's real. The G'Men have done it. They won it all.
Thank you, dear orange and black,
I can now lay down my mortal frame,
And rest in the arms of eternity,
Where I, the Ever-Loyal Fan,
Will sit with the Immortals ,
Matthewson, Thompson, Hubbell and Ott,
And join hands with Willie, Orlando and Stretch,
Even Barry and Bobby too, and "One Flap Down",
To give thanks to this year's team
For purging demons of the past.
With pitching, hitting, fielding, Bochy-guided dedication
Came this celestial World Series win.
And Sabean also deserves some props,
Oft cursed, but this year blessed.
KNBR too, year after year,
Giving us Lon and Hank, Kruk and Kuip.
Jon Miller at his best,
Painting pictures for loyal fans.
The games stood revealed, shining in our mind's eye,
Till, at last, with Cruz's final swing,
The grosser memories of so many years
Vanished in a vast sea of all-pervading bliss.
In '58 they came, three times they lost, finally they won,
Oceans of sorrow and despair set alight.
The burdens of '62, '89 and '02 gone,
All if forgiven, the world is aright.
Myself, completely content, can now let it go.
Gone forever, fitful, flickering shadows of bad memories.
Spotless is my mental sky, below, ahead, and high above.
The Great Giant in the sky has reached out His hand
To a humble, faithful fan,
Who has suffered mightily, but now
Has finally entered the Giant's Promised Land.