He’s down by law, the forever D.J.,
Long gone is the vinyl, now it’s chalk tunes he plays.
Dig the man’s neckties, an unending array,
And if a ref blows a call, Ryan’ll enter the fray.
He frequents club Newman, not for soaking up rays,
Not Seinfeld’s, not Alfred E.,(end this punning. . . he prays).
On the State of the Union, he has much to say,
No loss for words, no space on his tray.
But beware of the moment you and he must part ways,
His lethal Long Goodbyes causes serious delays.
You can cough, shuffle papers, or watch-glance in dismay,
Yet he’ll continue his tale; he’s got more to say.
You could even try subtly backing away,
He won’t budge or sum up, his feet fixed in clay.
With the turn of the globe, each night turns to day,
And with Ryan’s goodbyes, youthful hair turns to gray.
- Lamont Bridges
(Founder of the Mook Court Alumni Association)