by Todd Herges
Leading off and batting first,
To start an early rally, it’s
The Abel speedster.
The small weak-batted, fleet-footed speedster.
A BUNT! It’s down, it’s perfectly placed.
He’s on! Look out! The line he’s retraced.
His confident lead betrays his need
To advance himself to scoring position.
Now up it’s Baker.
Clutch four hundred with RISPy Baker.
Four balls later it’s first
And third, no out.
And so up to the plate steps Charles.
Charles A-for-Albert Pujols.
Could it have been scripted better?
Thanks in part to Baker’s distraction
the first pitch misses its hoped destination
Its desired its craved low-inside location.
Too much in the middle
It’s right in the wheelhouse
Of a man dreaming hard of the Hall,
And so Charles he crushes, he flattens the ball
On a rocketed frozen rope line
Over the yellow stripe in left center.
Cards up three nothing.
Baby bears an inning closer
To another early hibernation.
First ones in the den, again.
Who needs Daniel, Edward, Frank or George
Or Hooker or Irwin or that guy who will gorge
Himself on six hot dogs each sitting
Like the Babe, Kobayashi,
Or maybe Adam Dunn.
When Charles A-for-Albert steps up to the plate
Stick a fork in those Cubbies,
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