Shanahan’s Last Stand
Here is a poem I wrote in honor of Michael Shanahan, who was fired as the head coach of the Denver Broncos on the last day of 2008. I tried to evoke not just the man, but also his name in history, some of his achievements and demise. Not all in classical ‘Deibhidhe’ meter.
“Quando cadit Coliseus; cadet et Roma...” – Bede the Venerable
True the glorious tale, behold...
Of Shanahan, strictly good and bold!
Cosrach, brother of Cineadh;
Cosrach of Donchadh, well-bred
Donchadh Cuan, son of Seanchan
Paragons of Mother Shannon.
Clan Ui Bloid of the Dal gCais
Of Thomond, Munster: good grace
The Tordealbhaigh, O’Briens...
With MacNamara’s battle reigns.
Then Limerick, Cork, Waterford;
Bodyke, Feakle, Clare’s fair ward
Omulled the East, sweet Carlow
Wexford: Thro’ sun, wind, and snow.
The stronger kin grows ever strong;
Til famine is the lands’ sad song
Sept and Clans move far away
To prover their worth, earn their pay.
To foreign lands labour sought;
Wild geese in distant ports no doubt
In ships ‘cross oceans, another world
From Dublin to seek New York’s gold.
New Irish, of American breed;
Prospectors yearn to succeed
The ‘old-ways’ now reinvented
By émigré’s on prairie homesteads.
From Windy City’s Oak Park;
A son of Eire, green birthmark
Born of a dream, guided right
Stream of sparks, full of light.
Youngsters play to catch and run;
Chicago Bulls: All games hard won
Leyden High School to Illinois
Spirit of a sporting boy.
Lumberjacks and Gophers Gold;
College titles: the athlete bold
Watching, running, learning play
Reaching to tackle day by day.
Field-crushed and kidney lost;
Hard the red blood, dear the cost
Too near to death, feeling pain
Bleeding is a joyless strain.
From Quarterback to coaching;
With Raiders on an Angel’s wing
To green of St. Francis’ field
A lightening rod, spearhead, shield.
Denver Bronco’s: The best man;
Success: San Diego and Miami Clan
In nineteen ninety eight and nine
Green Bay Packers hear a victors rhyme.
All effort in discipline
Focus is a sharpened thing
Preparation: true battle plan
Men controlled by a tough man.
Soul of Leadership, of laurels
Of crowns won on hard hills
Never sleeping: tight-lipped and worn
Never faded, your loss we mourn
Thus the Man’s tale told so far...
Perhaps he leaves for another shore?
All Rights Reserved 2018 & Copyright David John Drew ‘Ollamh Draoi’
