We Happy Few

St. Fenway's Day Speech

William Shakespeare, 2005

Enter BIG PAPPI

FRANCONA. O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in Pawtucket
That do no work to-day!

BIG PAPPI. What's he that wishes so?
My manager Francona? No, my fair manager;
If we are mark'd to lose, we are enow
To do our Nation loss; and if to win,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.

God's will! I pray thee, wish not one September call-up more.

By Yaz, I am not covetous for a performance bonus,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my MVP trophy;
It yearns me not if men my MLB licensed gear wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.

But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.

No, faith, my manager, wish not a man from Pawtucket.

God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!

Rather proclaim it, Francona, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not lose in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to lose with us.

This day is call'd the Feast of Fenway.

He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Fenway.

He that shall win this week, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Fenway.'

Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Fenway's day.'

Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Big Pappi, Tek and Trot,
Schilling and Edgar, Johnny and Manny -
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.

This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Fenway Park shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we Band of Idiots;
For he to-day that sheds his sweat with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in New England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Fenway's day.