Dear readers, we've come to the end of a year.
It's time for my poem, delivered with cheer.
I write it with gusto and plot it out happily.
I swing for the bleachers, like Papi and Napoli.
By bringing you joy, I couldn't be happier
If I had the treasures of treasurer Nappier.
So let's have the Ryans bid 'bye to 13.
That's Hanrahan, Bingham, Boatright and McKeen.
With my brother Rennie, let's ring in 14.
Meet Archbishop Lennie and gunslinger Dean.
It's Christmas or Kwanzaa, whatever your preferences.
I hope you can keep up with all of my references.
Some I'll throw in will be mucho obscuro
Others are simple, like Joseph Maturo,
The East Haven mayor who went home for a taco.
But are you acquainted with Robert Diaco?
The brand new successor to Paul Pasqualoni,
And the guy right before him, who was kind of a phony.
We bought us an Edsel; we needed a Caddy.
A car with a chassis like Sonia Baghdady.
But that is all Waterston over the dam.
It's best to look forward now, isn't Sam?
It's best to relax. Try to stay loosey-goosey.
Not all wired up, like that stoolie Ray Soucy.
But you're waiting for names, like Nyberg and Nesti
And Carberg and Esty and Esty and Esty.
You're waiting to see if I trip like Joe Furey,
On my scansion of Kermit Carolina…you were right to worry.
So string up the popcorn and tinsel and cranberry,
And stretch one long strand from New Haven to Danbury,
The home of a mayor whose ambitions aren't shabby.
Will the governor's mansion become Boughton Abbey?
Or maybe you'd rather I gave you the skinny
On that other guy running, polite John McKinney,
Or the woman who's ready to enter the fray.
Will Boucher say "touche" or a cry of dismay?
One thing that you need to remain a contender:
Have nothing about you that interests Jon Lender.
And speaking of that, let us speak of disgrace
And the folks who seek mercy from Chief Justice Chase.
By the time I am finished composing these cantos,
Will there be more judgments in favor of Santos?
We've suffered some losses: the music of Brubeck,
The wining and dining and driving of Kupiec,
The greatness of Tate in that victory so narrow,
The premium payment we gave to O'Garro.
We even lost part of the law we call FOIA.
We're lucky we didn't lose Dustin Pedroia.
But try not to fret. And be hip and be meta.
Hakuna Matata! Kaleena Mosqueda!
Be it snowy or sleety or foggy or rainy,
Don't eat off the floor. You should learn from Scott Haney.
You could be reviled and decried and rebuked
If you eat what came out of a cat who just puked.
Behold Ernest Hewett. Learn from his mistakes.
Take care not to mention invisible snakes.
So this is my poem. It's ever so humble.
It's harder than trying to do "Rent" in Trumbull
I've run out of space and I've run out of rhymes
For Barreca, Marteka, DeLauro or Himes.
I've used up my time and I'm all out of turns,
For Dascenzo, DiRienzo, Fasano and Byrnes,
Of Counihan, Quickmire, Kushner and Joe,
I cannot say more, for it's high time to go.
To all of you Huskies, I can't say a paw's worth
For Tyler Olander or Jennifer Bosworth.
I'll conclude, in this season of everything holy,
Merry Christmas to all, and don't drive like Tom Foley.
Colin McEnroe appears from 1 to 2 p.m. weekdays on WNPR-FM (90.5) and blogs at http://courantblogs.com/colin-mcenroe/. He can be reached at Colin@wnpr.org.Copyright © 2015, CT Now