With apologies to Jackson Browne!
Tune refresher here: http: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jtuvXrTz8DY&feature=list_related&playnext=1&list=AVGxdCwVVULXf0uXSk394dEeTWk88renVB
When the seats are all empty
And the grounds crew takes the field
Pack it up and pull the tarp out
He’s the first to come and the last to leave
Working for six million bucks
Maybe playin for another team
Last year the people were so fine
They waited there in line.
And when they got up on their feet
and made the game, that was so sweet.
and I can hear the sound of slamming bats and pounding gloves
that’s a sound he’ll never know again
Load those bats and pack up those mitts
pack it up after three more hits
And when it comes to super subs,
you know Brandon is the champ
but when that last glove has been packed away
you know that he still just wants to play.
before you send him to Miami
But the team is on the bus,
and they're ready to go.
We got to fly all night
And play a game in Minnesota...
or Detroit, I don't know, we play so many games in a row.
And these towns all look the same.
Players pass the time in their hotel rooms
and wander around the field.
Till those lights come up, and they hear that crowd,
and remember why they came.
Now we’ve got Miggy and Magglio on the bus,
Jhonny too, we got Motown on Ipods and chewin tobacco
We've got Verlander and Ricky too
And we've got Betemit playin third
We got Dickerson on the radio
You've got time to think of the ones you loved
While the season rolls away
but the only time that seems too short is the time that you get to play
DD, you've got the power over what he’ll do
You can trade away our hero
or you can keep Inge too.
Don’t be a dong, bring Inge along
You know that you can't go wrong
'Cause when that injury bug hits our nine
you're gonna wish you had Inge on the pine
But he'll be scheduled to appear
a thousand miles away from here
Brandon stay- just a little bit longer
We’ll let you play - just a little bit more
Now Cabrera don't mind
And Leyland don't mind
You can play a little time
You can spend time on the pine and play
One more game
Oh won’t you stay just a little bit longer
Please, please, please say you will
Say you will
Oh won’t you stay just a little bit longer
Oh please, please stay just a little bit more
Now if Leyland don’t mind
And Raburn don’t mind
If we take a little time
And we leave this all behind and play
One more game
A collection of news, information, stories and poetry about the Detroit Tigers Baseball Club.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Growing up with Ernie
Growing up with Ernie
It's great to see the outpouring of emotions following the announcement of Ernie's passing. The younger generation of baseball fans may never have experienced what it was like, growing up with Ernie, but I think you can get the picture from some of us "old timers".
It was a time when there were only three TV stations, four if you count channel 9 in Canada. Somewhere along the way during Ernie's tenure, we got color TV's, and we got Channel 50 on UHF, but there were still only one or two games a week on TV, so we got our baseball from the radio, on "the great voice of the great lakes", WJR 760. Of course, there was no internet, there were no i-pods, and we got our music by riding our bikes to the record store and playing 45's on a turntable.
For many of us, baseball was literally our pastime. That's what we did as kids. For me, it was church on Sundays, hockey in the winter, baseball in the summer, and a bunch of Irish stuff in between. We took our baseball gloves to school, hung on the handle bars of our bikes every day and played baseball in the school parking lot at recess and during lunch hour. We played it in the street with a rubber ball or hard ball in the park all day in the summer. We threw rubber coated hardballs at a box drawn on the school wall. We traded baseball cards, and put the duplicates in our bicycle spokes. Baseball was life, and Ernie brought baseball to us every night during the summer.
Each summer, we'd sit on the porch, or in the car, or in the back yard, or in a friend’s basement playing stratomatic baeball, or have a transistor radio snuck into school, or under the pillow, and we’d listen to Ernie Harwell. Ernie brought friends and families together, and he talked to us like he was our friend, a part of our family. Those who have met him say that he was exactly the same way in person.
You can close your eyes and almost literally hear his voice.
“There's a bounding ball up the middle for a base hit."
"Sweeeeng anna miss, he struck him out."
"No runs, no hits, no erras, and nobody left on base, we go to the bottom of the first, the Yankees nothing and the Tigers coming to bat",
"and the pitch, called strike three, he stood there like the house by the side of the road, and watched that one go by",
“The lanky left hander leans in for the sign, there’s the wind up, he deals, and there’s a ball outside, Mister Bremigan said so”
“there’s a bounding ball to shortstop, Trammel up with it, flips to Whitaker, on to first, two for the price o one”
“Tigers need some instant runs here in the eighth inning”
"fly ball to left field, it's deep and it's looooong gone, a home run for Cecil Fielder".
He was a class act, Ernie was. A Detroit icon, a role model, a good Christian, a Gentleman, a man for the ages. I was sure that I would cry when he finally passed after his bout with cancer, but I didn't. I shed some tears when I first heard the news last fall, and then he came out and put life in perspective for all of us. Yesterday, when I learned of his passing, I got choked up and posted the sad news on the Tiger Talk forum. I was watching the Red Wings and the start of the Tiger game, and it all seemed to matter much less, in perspective. Seasons come and seasons go, but the spirit of Ernie Harwell lives on. I have a lot of baseball memorabilia, but just one custom made Tiger jersey. On the back is the number of my favorite year, “68", and the name “Harwell”. Ernie was my Tiger. He’ll always be my Tiger. I miss him already. May he rest in peace.
It's great to see the outpouring of emotions following the announcement of Ernie's passing. The younger generation of baseball fans may never have experienced what it was like, growing up with Ernie, but I think you can get the picture from some of us "old timers".
It was a time when there were only three TV stations, four if you count channel 9 in Canada. Somewhere along the way during Ernie's tenure, we got color TV's, and we got Channel 50 on UHF, but there were still only one or two games a week on TV, so we got our baseball from the radio, on "the great voice of the great lakes", WJR 760. Of course, there was no internet, there were no i-pods, and we got our music by riding our bikes to the record store and playing 45's on a turntable.
For many of us, baseball was literally our pastime. That's what we did as kids. For me, it was church on Sundays, hockey in the winter, baseball in the summer, and a bunch of Irish stuff in between. We took our baseball gloves to school, hung on the handle bars of our bikes every day and played baseball in the school parking lot at recess and during lunch hour. We played it in the street with a rubber ball or hard ball in the park all day in the summer. We threw rubber coated hardballs at a box drawn on the school wall. We traded baseball cards, and put the duplicates in our bicycle spokes. Baseball was life, and Ernie brought baseball to us every night during the summer.
Each summer, we'd sit on the porch, or in the car, or in the back yard, or in a friend’s basement playing stratomatic baeball, or have a transistor radio snuck into school, or under the pillow, and we’d listen to Ernie Harwell. Ernie brought friends and families together, and he talked to us like he was our friend, a part of our family. Those who have met him say that he was exactly the same way in person.
You can close your eyes and almost literally hear his voice.
“There's a bounding ball up the middle for a base hit."
"Sweeeeng anna miss, he struck him out."
"No runs, no hits, no erras, and nobody left on base, we go to the bottom of the first, the Yankees nothing and the Tigers coming to bat",
"and the pitch, called strike three, he stood there like the house by the side of the road, and watched that one go by",
“The lanky left hander leans in for the sign, there’s the wind up, he deals, and there’s a ball outside, Mister Bremigan said so”
“there’s a bounding ball to shortstop, Trammel up with it, flips to Whitaker, on to first, two for the price o one”
“Tigers need some instant runs here in the eighth inning”
"fly ball to left field, it's deep and it's looooong gone, a home run for Cecil Fielder".
He was a class act, Ernie was. A Detroit icon, a role model, a good Christian, a Gentleman, a man for the ages. I was sure that I would cry when he finally passed after his bout with cancer, but I didn't. I shed some tears when I first heard the news last fall, and then he came out and put life in perspective for all of us. Yesterday, when I learned of his passing, I got choked up and posted the sad news on the Tiger Talk forum. I was watching the Red Wings and the start of the Tiger game, and it all seemed to matter much less, in perspective. Seasons come and seasons go, but the spirit of Ernie Harwell lives on. I have a lot of baseball memorabilia, but just one custom made Tiger jersey. On the back is the number of my favorite year, “68", and the name “Harwell”. Ernie was my Tiger. He’ll always be my Tiger. I miss him already. May he rest in peace.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Tiger Poetry: What the Tigers Mean to Me
You ask me why I wear this Olde D upon my hat
Or why I keep this glove or this old baseball bat
You wonder why I await the spring with such anticipation
It is the game of baseball, the pastime of our Nation
You think it such a mystery, that I do this every year?
And tho they win or lose, I watch my Tigers every year
Growing up in Detroit, I have memories so fond
Of winters icy cold, when I would skate upon a pond
Of autumns when the foliage would fall down from the trees
Playing football on the lawn amidst the autumn leaves.
But nothing can compare to the memories so dear
When springtime came around with a Tiger season near
The Last year was forgotten, no matter good or bad
And we knew this would be our year, and good times would be had
We heard of all the trades in the winter time each year
And there would be new Tigers on the field for us to cheer
But most of our old heroes would be back again to play
I couldn’t wait for that first pitch to be thrown on opening day
I should have been in school doing english or my math
But not for me on opening day, I chose a different path
The snow would all be melted and the grass would start to grow
And the Voice of Ernie Harwell would come on the radio
The anticipation built with baseball not so far away
Looking forward to the day when the Tigers started play
I remember one long summer, our city torn apart
They said there was a curfew and we couldn’t leave our yard
People burning buildings made a shambles of our town
And LBJ sent troops and tanks to put the riots down
The Tigers came so close that year, it almost felt like heaven
But it wasn’t meant to be in the year of sixty seven
When springtime came around, each year I could hardly wait
But the best year of all was the year of sixty eight
The year before was over, a summer long and hot
We came so close, and lost to Yaz, but now it mattered not
The ump cried out “play ball” and the Tigers took the field
Spring was in the air, and the Winter had to yield
All summer long, we'd gather and listen to the games
Sitting on the porch as Ernie called out all the names
In left field, Willie Horton- Al Kaline out in Right
Cash, Freehan and Stanley, were all ready for the fight
The Gater, Wert and Lolich were on our mighty team
It was a magic summer, on the field of baseball dreams
Denny mowed em down all year from innings one to nine
And hardly did we lose a game when Denny pitched so fine
With pictures on the TV of a war so far away
Our problems all forgotten when the Tigers came to play
All year long, we led the league, the town was all abuzz
Black and white, all tiger fans- even the fuzz
Many times I took a trip down Michigan avenue
And for fifty cents, I sat out in the bleachers with a view
Nothing could be finer and my heart beat like a drum
When I saw my heroes on the field at Tiger Stadium
Against Red Sox, White Sox, Indians, and even the hated Yanks
My dad would take me to the games and buy me ballpark franks
The season done, the Tigers beat the Os by a dozen games
And into the World Series for the best of seven games
The nuns all knew there was no point in having class
They even prayed for victory that day at morning mass
We gathered in the gym that fall to watch the Tigers play
Children, priests, and nuns were there on that historic day
The series didnt start so well, we lost three games of four
Gibson won his battles, but we would win the war
Things were looking grim until Lolich came along
Northrup hit a granny, like hed done all season long
The series turned around when Willie Horton gunned down Brock
When the Tigers won the series-into streets the people flocked
Detroit has seen its share of times that weren't so good
Getting beat by Nolan Ryan, Jim Palmer and Wilbur Wood
We saw Aaron, Rice, and Mantle, McGwire and Carew
The Robinsons of Baltimore and Harmon Killebrew
All the stars came to Detroit, and Reggie hit the lights
My fondest moments spent on Tiger days and Tiger nights
Another charge was made in the year of seventy two
Against the Oakland A’s with Campaneris and Vida Blue
We had Brinkman in at Shortstop and Aurelio at Third
We lost that year, but then there was the season of the bird
The town was all agog when Fidrych took the mound
Talking to the baseball and mowing hitters down
I remember nineteen eighty four, when we started out on fire
Sparky in the dugout and the team went wire to wire
Morris shut em down and Hernandez slammed the door
Parrish, Evans and Chester, who was better than LeFlore
Mustard on a hot dog, onions on the sausage
Whitaker and Trammell, and Gibby slamming Gossage
Seasons come and seasons go, some happy and some sad
But I never will forget those precious moments with my dad
Memories of my childhood, collecting baseball cards
Going to Tiger games down at the old ballyard
Now Ive grown, my dad is gone, and if you wonder bout the D
You just have no idea what the Tigers mean to me
Or why I keep this glove or this old baseball bat
You wonder why I await the spring with such anticipation
It is the game of baseball, the pastime of our Nation
You think it such a mystery, that I do this every year?
And tho they win or lose, I watch my Tigers every year
Growing up in Detroit, I have memories so fond
Of winters icy cold, when I would skate upon a pond
Of autumns when the foliage would fall down from the trees
Playing football on the lawn amidst the autumn leaves.
But nothing can compare to the memories so dear
When springtime came around with a Tiger season near
The Last year was forgotten, no matter good or bad
And we knew this would be our year, and good times would be had
We heard of all the trades in the winter time each year
And there would be new Tigers on the field for us to cheer
But most of our old heroes would be back again to play
I couldn’t wait for that first pitch to be thrown on opening day
I should have been in school doing english or my math
But not for me on opening day, I chose a different path
The snow would all be melted and the grass would start to grow
And the Voice of Ernie Harwell would come on the radio
The anticipation built with baseball not so far away
Looking forward to the day when the Tigers started play
I remember one long summer, our city torn apart
They said there was a curfew and we couldn’t leave our yard
People burning buildings made a shambles of our town
And LBJ sent troops and tanks to put the riots down
The Tigers came so close that year, it almost felt like heaven
But it wasn’t meant to be in the year of sixty seven
When springtime came around, each year I could hardly wait
But the best year of all was the year of sixty eight
The year before was over, a summer long and hot
We came so close, and lost to Yaz, but now it mattered not
The ump cried out “play ball” and the Tigers took the field
Spring was in the air, and the Winter had to yield
All summer long, we'd gather and listen to the games
Sitting on the porch as Ernie called out all the names
In left field, Willie Horton- Al Kaline out in Right
Cash, Freehan and Stanley, were all ready for the fight
The Gater, Wert and Lolich were on our mighty team
It was a magic summer, on the field of baseball dreams
Denny mowed em down all year from innings one to nine
And hardly did we lose a game when Denny pitched so fine
With pictures on the TV of a war so far away
Our problems all forgotten when the Tigers came to play
All year long, we led the league, the town was all abuzz
Black and white, all tiger fans- even the fuzz
Many times I took a trip down Michigan avenue
And for fifty cents, I sat out in the bleachers with a view
Nothing could be finer and my heart beat like a drum
When I saw my heroes on the field at Tiger Stadium
Against Red Sox, White Sox, Indians, and even the hated Yanks
My dad would take me to the games and buy me ballpark franks
The season done, the Tigers beat the Os by a dozen games
And into the World Series for the best of seven games
The nuns all knew there was no point in having class
They even prayed for victory that day at morning mass
We gathered in the gym that fall to watch the Tigers play
Children, priests, and nuns were there on that historic day
The series didnt start so well, we lost three games of four
Gibson won his battles, but we would win the war
Things were looking grim until Lolich came along
Northrup hit a granny, like hed done all season long
The series turned around when Willie Horton gunned down Brock
When the Tigers won the series-into streets the people flocked
Detroit has seen its share of times that weren't so good
Getting beat by Nolan Ryan, Jim Palmer and Wilbur Wood
We saw Aaron, Rice, and Mantle, McGwire and Carew
The Robinsons of Baltimore and Harmon Killebrew
All the stars came to Detroit, and Reggie hit the lights
My fondest moments spent on Tiger days and Tiger nights
Another charge was made in the year of seventy two
Against the Oakland A’s with Campaneris and Vida Blue
We had Brinkman in at Shortstop and Aurelio at Third
We lost that year, but then there was the season of the bird
The town was all agog when Fidrych took the mound
Talking to the baseball and mowing hitters down
I remember nineteen eighty four, when we started out on fire
Sparky in the dugout and the team went wire to wire
Morris shut em down and Hernandez slammed the door
Parrish, Evans and Chester, who was better than LeFlore
Mustard on a hot dog, onions on the sausage
Whitaker and Trammell, and Gibby slamming Gossage
Seasons come and seasons go, some happy and some sad
But I never will forget those precious moments with my dad
Memories of my childhood, collecting baseball cards
Going to Tiger games down at the old ballyard
Now Ive grown, my dad is gone, and if you wonder bout the D
You just have no idea what the Tigers mean to me
Sunday, January 23, 2011
The Saga of Galarraga
Here's what I think is happening with the Tigers and Armando Galarraga. Armando doesn't fit into the Tigers long term plans for the rotation. His upside is what we saw in 2008 and that took a good deal of fortune to produce 13 wins. He's likely to be overwhelmed by the young, talented pitchers on the way up the system, with three or four spots ahead of him filled for the foreseeable future. In fact, Leyland is at his wit's end with AG's nibbling and lack of aggressiveness. AG gave up a ton of homers last year because he got himself behind in the count and had to come in to hitters, who are sitting on his mediocre fastball out over the plate. He also isn't good with runners on base, and walks too many lefties. He thinks himself into a funk at times, and that's when the damage gets done. When he's in a groove, we've all seen what he can do, but he's no Greg Maddux for consistency.
Brad Penny was seen as an upgrade over Armando, and they're completely sold on the idea of Coke moving to the rotation. Phil Coke is one confident pitcher, and he has at least three solid pitches, plus he's better than any lefty not named Lee that they might have picked up in the off season. Might as well see if he can be a starter- he's much more valuable in that role.
Armando has not taken well to being passed over, piggy backed, optioned, or put in the bullpen in the past. He'd be the odd man out in the rotation. The sixth passenger on a five seat ride. They don't want him lingering all spring, waiting for an injury or a failure, peering over Coke's shoulder to see how that's going, and they don't want a $ 2.3 million reliever holding a mop that he doesn't want to swing. So they move on.
I don't like giving up a starting pitcher or surrendering the depth which will almost surely be needed before the season runs it's course. Even at last year's pace, an ERA under 4.50 isn't all that bad for a five hole pitcher. What to do with him in the interim seems to be the issue. If he doesn't like Toledo and doesn't like the bullpen, he's in a sort of Limbo waiting for an accident to happen, although he sees it as more like Purgagtory. Armando, meet Gibby and Tram.
Brad Penny was seen as an upgrade over Armando, and they're completely sold on the idea of Coke moving to the rotation. Phil Coke is one confident pitcher, and he has at least three solid pitches, plus he's better than any lefty not named Lee that they might have picked up in the off season. Might as well see if he can be a starter- he's much more valuable in that role.
Armando has not taken well to being passed over, piggy backed, optioned, or put in the bullpen in the past. He'd be the odd man out in the rotation. The sixth passenger on a five seat ride. They don't want him lingering all spring, waiting for an injury or a failure, peering over Coke's shoulder to see how that's going, and they don't want a $ 2.3 million reliever holding a mop that he doesn't want to swing. So they move on.
I don't like giving up a starting pitcher or surrendering the depth which will almost surely be needed before the season runs it's course. Even at last year's pace, an ERA under 4.50 isn't all that bad for a five hole pitcher. What to do with him in the interim seems to be the issue. If he doesn't like Toledo and doesn't like the bullpen, he's in a sort of Limbo waiting for an accident to happen, although he sees it as more like Purgagtory. Armando, meet Gibby and Tram.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Tiger Poetry: Imagine No Polanco
(Best hummed to the tune of Imagine, by John Lennon)
Imagine no Polanco, it’s easy if you can
No one to turn the DP, or move the runner up
Imagine all the errors
Plays that won’t be made
Imagine Sizemore whiffing, it isn’t hard to do
No golden gloves to cheer for, and no more DP’s too
Imagine all the errors
Living life in fear
You may say I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope some day we’ll wake up
And Polly won’t be gone
Imagine arbitration, I wonder if you will
At least we’d get two draft picks, if Polly went to Phil
If Polly had accepted
We’d still have our man, yoo oo oo oo oo
You may say I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope some day we’ll wake up
And Polaco won’t be gone
You may say I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope some day we’ll wake up
And Polly won’t be gone
Imagine no Polanco, it’s easy if you can
No one to turn the DP, or move the runner up
Imagine all the errors
Plays that won’t be made
Imagine Sizemore whiffing, it isn’t hard to do
No golden gloves to cheer for, and no more DP’s too
Imagine all the errors
Living life in fear
You may say I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope some day we’ll wake up
And Polly won’t be gone
Imagine arbitration, I wonder if you will
At least we’d get two draft picks, if Polly went to Phil
If Polly had accepted
We’d still have our man, yoo oo oo oo oo
You may say I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope some day we’ll wake up
And Polaco won’t be gone
You may say I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope some day we’ll wake up
And Polly won’t be gone
Tiger Poetry: Brandon Stay
(Best hummed to the tune of Stay, by Jackson Browne)
When the seats are all empty
And the grounds crew takes the field
Pack it up and pull the tarp out
He’s the first to come and the last to leave
Working for six million bucks
Maybe playin for another team
Last year the people were so fine
They waited there in line.
And when they got up on their feet
and made the game, that was so sweet.
and I can hear the sound of slamming bats and pounding gloves
that’s a sound he’ll never know again
Load those bats and pack up those mitts
pack it up after three more hits
And when it comes to super subs,
you know Brandon is the champ
but when that last glove has been packed away
you know that he still just wants to play.
So just make sure you guys are set to go
before you send him to Chicago
But the team is on the bus,
and they're ready to go.
We got to fly all night
And play a game in Chicago...
or Detroit, I don't know, we play so many games in a row.
And these towns all look the same.
Players pass the time in their hotel rooms
and wander around the field.
Till those lights come up, and they hear that crowd,
and remember why they came.
Now we got Damon and Magglio on the bus,
Jackson too, we got Motown on Ipods and chewin tobacco
We've got Bonderman and Scherzer too
And we've got Cabrera playin first
We got Dickerson on the radio
You've got time to think of the ones you loved
While the season rolls away
but the only time that seems too short is the time that you get to play
DD, you've got the power over what he’ll do
You can trade away our hero
or you can keep Inge too.
Don’t be a dong, bring Inge along
You know that you can't go wrong
'Cause when that injury bug hits our nine
you're gonna wish you had Inge on the pine
But he'll be scheduled to appear
a thousand miles away from here
Brandon stay- just a little bit longer
We’ll let you play - just a little bit more
Now Cabrera don't mind
And Rodriguez don't mind
You can play a little time
You can spend time on the pine and play
One more season
Oh won’t you stay just a little bit longer
Please, please, please say you will
Say you will
Oh won’t you stay just a little bit longer
Oh please, please stay just a little bit more
Now if Leyland don’t mind
And Raburn don’t mind
If we take a little time
And we leave this all behind and play
One more season
When the seats are all empty
And the grounds crew takes the field
Pack it up and pull the tarp out
He’s the first to come and the last to leave
Working for six million bucks
Maybe playin for another team
Last year the people were so fine
They waited there in line.
And when they got up on their feet
and made the game, that was so sweet.
and I can hear the sound of slamming bats and pounding gloves
that’s a sound he’ll never know again
Load those bats and pack up those mitts
pack it up after three more hits
And when it comes to super subs,
you know Brandon is the champ
but when that last glove has been packed away
you know that he still just wants to play.
So just make sure you guys are set to go
before you send him to Chicago
But the team is on the bus,
and they're ready to go.
We got to fly all night
And play a game in Chicago...
or Detroit, I don't know, we play so many games in a row.
And these towns all look the same.
Players pass the time in their hotel rooms
and wander around the field.
Till those lights come up, and they hear that crowd,
and remember why they came.
Now we got Damon and Magglio on the bus,
Jackson too, we got Motown on Ipods and chewin tobacco
We've got Bonderman and Scherzer too
And we've got Cabrera playin first
We got Dickerson on the radio
You've got time to think of the ones you loved
While the season rolls away
but the only time that seems too short is the time that you get to play
DD, you've got the power over what he’ll do
You can trade away our hero
or you can keep Inge too.
Don’t be a dong, bring Inge along
You know that you can't go wrong
'Cause when that injury bug hits our nine
you're gonna wish you had Inge on the pine
But he'll be scheduled to appear
a thousand miles away from here
Brandon stay- just a little bit longer
We’ll let you play - just a little bit more
Now Cabrera don't mind
And Rodriguez don't mind
You can play a little time
You can spend time on the pine and play
One more season
Oh won’t you stay just a little bit longer
Please, please, please say you will
Say you will
Oh won’t you stay just a little bit longer
Oh please, please stay just a little bit more
Now if Leyland don’t mind
And Raburn don’t mind
If we take a little time
And we leave this all behind and play
One more season
Tiger Poetry: Bonds is Calling
(Best hummed to the tune of London Calling by The Clash)
Bonds is calling to the faraway towns
The war is declared-and battle come down
Barry’s calling to the underworld
Come out of denial, you need him too
Bonds is calling, now don't look at us
He says “phoney Steroidmania has bitten the dust”
Bonds is calling, he still got his swing
'Cept for the rucus, ‘oer the roidgate thing
CHORUS
The season is coming, reporters zooming in
The team has stopped running and the bullpen growing thin
A nuclear story, but we have no fear
Barry is crying out, and we need a title!
Bonds is calling to the desperate teams
Forget it, Barry, you can go it alone
Barry’s calling upon Leyland too
Quit holding out- he wanna play for YOU!
Barry’s calling-and you don’t wanna shout
But DD’s been talking- no more holdin out
Bonds is calling, see we ain't got no highs
Except one thing, it’s his roidy eyes
CHORUS
Now get this
Bonds is calling, yeah, he’ll be here, too
An' you know what they said? Well, some of it was true!
Bonds calling Jimmy at the top of the dial
After all we’ve had, won't you give me a smile?
I never felt so much a' like
Bonds is calling to the faraway towns
The war is declared-and battle come down
Barry’s calling to the underworld
Come out of denial, you need him too
Bonds is calling, now don't look at us
He says “phoney Steroidmania has bitten the dust”
Bonds is calling, he still got his swing
'Cept for the rucus, ‘oer the roidgate thing
CHORUS
The season is coming, reporters zooming in
The team has stopped running and the bullpen growing thin
A nuclear story, but we have no fear
Barry is crying out, and we need a title!
Bonds is calling to the desperate teams
Forget it, Barry, you can go it alone
Barry’s calling upon Leyland too
Quit holding out- he wanna play for YOU!
Barry’s calling-and you don’t wanna shout
But DD’s been talking- no more holdin out
Bonds is calling, see we ain't got no highs
Except one thing, it’s his roidy eyes
CHORUS
Now get this
Bonds is calling, yeah, he’ll be here, too
An' you know what they said? Well, some of it was true!
Bonds calling Jimmy at the top of the dial
After all we’ve had, won't you give me a smile?
I never felt so much a' like
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