Pedro on the Mound
[Inspired, obviously, by Ernest Thayer’s “Casey at the Bat”]
The outlook wasn’t stellar for the Philly nine that day:
The series stood three-two, with the Yanks one win away.
But Sabathia lost his start, and Burnett he did the same,
So the fans in red just thought, hey, that we can win one game.
A feckless few thought their team beyond all repair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, if only Pedro could but go just one more round –
We’d put up even money, now, with Pedro on the mound.
Cliff Lee preceded Pedro, as did that Blanton Joe,
And the former threw a lulu, while the latter he did show;
So inside that spellbound Philly crowd high expectations grew,
For Pedro now would take the ball; we know what he can do.
That Lee he won a tough one, to the great delight of all,
But Lidge, he so untrusted, hit Teixeira with the ball;
And then the infield shifted, and that Damon he spied third,
So with Johnny safe on base, the A-Rod name was heard.
So from the Yankee bosses, there arose a hearty cheer;
It irked the huddled masses, who grabbed another beer.
Hope was dim that much was true, but we hearkened to the sound,
That Pedro, yes that Pedro, would so soon ascend the mound.
There was grace in Pedro’s manner as he stepped up to the mike;
There was joy in Pedro’s visage as he said this game I like.
And then, responding to reporters, he let the s word slip.
So sorry he said, but who did care, it was a stellar quip.
A thousand cameras spied him as he spoke of his life’s work;
I hope that you, he stated, find me not to be a jerk.
And while the balls fly slower, as they leave his well honed grip,
They take paths that few can follow as they weave and dip.
And now the much awaited game came thrust onto our screens,
And Pedro, ah, well let’s just say, he bore the Phillies dreams.
Three thousands Ks, two hundred wins, that stellar ERA;
Who better then, who could be found, to start on such a day.
Now from the Bronx, full of pinstripes, came the usual refrain,
Come on you baseball nation, bow before the Yankee train.
“Never! Down with George’s team!” shouted all not wearing blue;
We have Utley, Howard, Werth, those Phillies know what to do.
With a smile on his face, the great Pedro took the ball;
Hope springs in us eternal, after surgeries and all.
His velocity is down, crafty still he labors on;
His legacy is certain, we’ll still miss him when he’s gone.
“Pedro!” cheered the nation, as the game was to be played;
A great arm’s date with destiny was not to be delayed.
The hall of fame is certain, as is glory and renown;
Still we wanted, still we wished, that brave Pedro not go down.
The smile is gone from Pedro’s mien, his head hangs just a bit;
Somehow one gets the feeling, that this just might be it.
Matsui saw the ball, and did he ever hit it hard,
He smacked it not once, but twice, and four runs the Yankees scored.
Everywhere in baseball lands, fans of the game are saddened;
When they see pinstripes rejoice, most hearts are not so gladdened.
And somewhere teams are scheming, hoping for that one great shot;
But there is no joy in Philly, mighty Pedro he was not.