For my money, it doesn’t get much better than the timeless works of Clifford Smith and Edward de Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford. If those names sound a bit esoteric, perhaps you’d feel more comfortable with their pseudonyms, Method Man and William Shakespeare.
I’ll not deign to enter into a debate here as to the true identity of history’s most famous playwright, but suffice to say I don’t believe that Shakespeare himself was the true genius behind the catalog that bears his name. About the veracity of the Ticallion Stallion’s work, however, there can be no doubt.
But that’s all beside the point, really. I was just sitting here thinking about the Cubs and what the team has gone through these past three-plus years, the methods Theo Epstein* has employed to turn it around. Not everyone saw the forest for the trees, but a picture has now emerged as from a three-dimensional artwork (A schooner is a sailboat, stupid head!).
That said, I wanted to fashion a written stereogram of sorts, an experimental mash-up of seemingly disparate works. I have no doubt that this exercise will likely be viewed as obfuscatory and asinine by most, but, let’s be honest, that’s nothing new.
The story of Theo Epstein and the Cubs, as expressed by William Shakespeare (specifically Hamlet) and Method Man:
Though this be madness, yet there is method in ’t.
When I first stepped on the scene, [people] was petrified
Jet back to the lab like they were being chased by homicide
My rap flow does you like Tical, and it will never steer you wrong
And all you b!*%#-a$$ [people] in the industry
your careers won’t be lasting long
Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
Play my position in the game of life, standin’ firm
On foreign land, jump the gun out the fryin’ pan
Into the fire, transform into the Ghostrider, a six-pack
An’ ‘A Streetcar Named Desire‘, who got my back?
In the line of fire holdin’ back, what?
This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Hitting you from every angle there’s no doubt
I am, the one and only Method Man
The master of the plan, wrapping shit like Saran
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
Hey, you, get off my cloud
You don’t know me and you don’t know my style
Conscience doth make cowards of us all.
Cash, Rules, Everything, Around, Me
Get the money
Dollar, dollar bill y’all
Words, words, words.
We on another level of planning, of understanding
Brevity is the soul of wit.
Kids is dead wrong, song’s too long
Get swung on, can’t we all get along?
This above all: to thine own self be true.
Only one way, and that’s my way
Grim Reaper callin’, Judgement Day
Confused? Upset that you spent more than 30 seconds of your day with me? This was a weird one, to be sure. But if I appealed to even one of you, I feel it was a successful experiment. Now let’s just hope Epstein’s work in Chicago doesn’t end up like Hamlet.
*Not to treat Jed Hoyer and Jason McLeod like Rosencrantz and Gildenstern, but I went with just Epstein for the sake of ease.