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We Went to the Game That Day & Close Avian Encounter (By Marc Stockwell-Moniz)(with a Bonus)

We Went to the Game That Day

[Author’s Note: This poem/story is about my fond memories of going to a Boston Red Sox game when I was a young boy. My father pulled me out of school one day to go to an afternoon game. It’s one of the highlight snapshots of my childhood. Amazingly, years later, I was a team member of the Boston Red Sox from 1969 to 1971.]

We went to the game that day, it was beyond exciting fun

I didn’t know that we were going, Dad you sure did surprise your six-year-old son

We went to the game that day, I remember our hapless home team

And that ever-present cigar in your mouth

Certainly, it sent an aroma into the Red Sox dugout

And who was it that you knew; you know the man at the ticket office?

He must have been waiting for you and that five-dollar tip as we got great seats

That tip must be fifty-dollars in todays money these many years later

We went to the game that day, how important I felt being with you

I think our home team was in last place

Is that why we were able to get the best seats in the ballpark named Fenway?

And that was just one-half hour before the game

For me it didn’t matter where we sat, because I was with you

We went to the game that day, I don’t remember if the Red Sox won

I can imagine it was a win for the home team, it definitely was a win for me

We went to the game that day, I know we cheered so loud, we were important fans

But how many fans bothered to show up at Fenway to see that last place team?

It didn’t matter because you were with me, that’s all I needed on that day

“Dad, can I have a hot dog and a Coca Cola too?”

And Teddy Ballgame, we miss you so

Will that new left-fielder be even half as good? He calls himself Yaz as you know

And that’s sort of a strange name, but he played the Green Monster really well

Did Ted do that too Dad?

We went to the game that day, it’s the high-light snap-shot of my youth

We stayed until the last pitch, and you lit another cigar

That must have been a victory cigar that you lit

It was the time of my life when we went to the game that day

Copyright ©

Marc Stockwell-Moniz

Close Avian Encounter

[Author’s Note: I was standing close to my sliding glass door when I heard a thud. Unfortunately, I am all too familiar with this sound. I have birds occasionally slam into the door. There was no doubt as to what I was supposed to do. I opened the door and I picked up a White Crown Sparrow. I did my best emergency room effort to somehow revive the bird. It was close to death.

After talking to the bird and stroking its back for at least twenty minutes, the Sparrow responded by sitting upright. Within another five minutes it made its way to the ground and scampered away to a thicket where the flock often goes for a Sparrow nap during the afternoon. I saw the Sparrow eating the next morning. I’m sure it was the same Sparrow because I had studied and remembered its unique markings.

It was a remarkable event for me and even more so for the White Crown Sparrow.
Now it can go on its summer trek with its flock. That flight is coming up soon. I’ll be looking for it this autumn when they return to my yard. They always do.]

I am amused daily by their antics; it’s never-ending activity

They will soon leave for their annual trek to colder regions

The hot summer is nearly upon us

But they will return to my yard in late autumn, they always do

They chase, harass, tolerate and sometimes fight each other

However, they stay flocked together as one, about a dozen of them

Recently one of my avion friends flew into my glass-door

Pow! The White-Crowned Sparrow hit the door hard

Sparrow came quite close to its last flight

I rushed out to perhaps help it; it seemed like a lost cause

I picked up Sparrow and held it in my hand; I talked to it

I started to gently stroke its back as it was whimpering but still alive

This lasted at least twenty-minutes, as small encouraging signs appeared

I vowed that I would stay with it and do my best to return it to the flock

Sparrow righted itself and gripped my fingers with its delicate toes

I continued to talk to it while petting it, Sparrow looked at me in wonder

Amazingly, Sparrow started to scratch its head and was gaining strength

I tried to put it down, but no go, it was secure in its momentary space

Suddenly, Sparrow jumped down to the ground but was motionless

I attempted to pick it up, but it managed to move away from me

I wanted to put it in the thicket where the White-Crowns frequently go

But it had made its way there on its own Sparrow power, a good sign indeed

It was a great sight to behold; my mission was accomplished for the bird

White-Crown Headed Sparrow had experienced its own avion abeyance

I saw White-Crowned Sparrow the next morning eating some seeds

I poured myself a bowl of cereal and watched the Sparrows carry on

Perhaps I should give it a name, but it already has one; it knows its own name

Copyright ©

Marc Stockwell-Moniz


Author’s Bio:

Author Marc Stockwell-Moniz is a fourteenth-generation American. Marc was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts in 1954. He was graduated from San Diego State in 1978 with a degree in journalism. His ancestors were among the group of settlers who received the charter from King Charles to establish the Massachusetts Bay Colony. They founded Charlestown, Massachusetts in 1628, now a part of Boston. Several of Marc’s ancestors fought in the American Revolutionary War under the command of General Artemus Ward and later General George Washington. Marc is a member of the Bunker Hill Monument Association, Sons of the American Revolution and the Sons of the Union Veterans. Marc has also represented the United States in international ice hockey competition in Europe. He has hosted a radio show in San Diego, and he lives in San Diego County, Ca. with his family.

Marc is the author of:
Fog On The Hill – General Gage Here We Are Come Get US – The Battle of Bunker Hill.
(Go to for a copy of Fog On The Hill or contact Marc.)
George Washington’s Unsung Heroes
Seeds of American Liberty with co-author Jack Alves
Prayers For Today and Tomorrow
Ode To The Five Hole (a book of poetry)

Contact Marc Stockwell-Moniz at
To read Marc’s poetry go to: In the search box type-marciceman.

Bonus: From the back cover of Marc Stockwell-Moniz’s latest book, “Fog On The Hill,” found on

On the morning of June 17, 1775, the fog was slowly lifting over the small village of Charlestown, Massachusetts. Tragically, a more ominous and metaphorical type of fog quickly descended upon the Charlestown Peninsula. It followed angry American patriots and their wrathful British enemies. This fog was the omnipresent fog of war. It would dictate the chaotic fighting by the combatants during the legendary Battle of Bunker Hill.

In his book, Fog On The Hill, author Marc Stockwell-Moniz guides the reader into the bedlam of this renowned battle. He details the utter confusion which surrounded both the Americans and the British and explains the de facto political recognition by the British toward the freely elected Massachusetts Provincial Congress. Also highlighted in Fog On The Hill are First Nation Americans and African-Americans, along with an updated American death count from the legendary battle.”


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