by the National Pastime Orchestra
Homeward Bound
Sung to the tune of the Simon & Garfunkel song
I’m sitting here at second base
Was patient with the Dodgers’ ace
Mmm-mmmm
At last I found a pitch to hit
Hope my teammates find some grit
Not asking for a new Mike Schmidt
Just one at-bat where they don’t quit
Homeward bound
I wish I was homeward bound
Home, oh my legs are twitching
Home, but the Dodgers’ pitching
Home, my Yanks bewitching
Staring at strike three…
Be it Soto, Chisholm, Aaron Judge,
Can someone come through in the clutch?
Mmm-mmmm
What a time to lose their steam
Can’t blame the fans for venting spleens
Does Boonie even have a scheme?
Feel like I’m in a Freudian dream
Homeward bound
I wish I was homeward bound.
Home, oh my legs are twitching
Home, but the Dodgers’ pitching
Home, my Yanks bewitching
Staring at strike three…
Nicky and Bryce
By James Finn Garner
With apologies to Robert Frost
Some say the game will end with Nicky,
Some say Bryce.
From what I’ve seen of players gritty
I hold with those who favor Nicky.
But if it had to happen twice,
Say, if the game was going late,
I know that for destruction Bryce
Is also great
And would suffice.
Pete Rose Won’t Get in the Hall
by James Finn Garner
(To the tune of that old song by Poison)
That Charlie Hustle had more hits
No one can deny
With that Dorothy Hammill haircut
We’d watch that face-first slide
He was one of the sparks of the Big Red Machine
Putting a little down on the side
Then he lied about it all
How he lied
That’s why it’s clear
Pete Rose won’t get in the hall
Ain’t no chance of it at all
Just like Shoeless Joe won’t get the commissioner’s call
Pete Rose won’t get in the hall
He signed Rule 21 at the start of every year
It read “No Gambling” but some of that wasn’t clear
I guess he didn’t hear
Thought he could lead the team
But his ears worked right
When he asked at night, “You swear that you’re 16?”
Pete Rose won’t get in the hall
Ain’t no chance of it at all
Just like Shoeless Joe won’t get the commissioner’s call
(Not just ‘cuz they’re dead)
Pete Rose won’t get in the hall
Summer Wind, Yankees Style
by HoraceClarke66
The summer wind was blowin’ out
At least half the year.
When Soto hit and Judge ran wild,
And we dreamed of golden rings.
Two monsters and the summer wind.
Like painted kites
Those long-ball nights
They went flyin’ by.
The world was new
’Neath a pinstriped blue
Umbrella sky.
Then worse than
Poor Gleyber ran
Cashman sent it askew.
We lost it with the summer wind.
The autumn wind,
The winter wind
Will come and go.
As Giants fall,
And Knicks appall,
Through another barren winter.
And yes those days,
Those dismal days
Will drag on and on.
As Gleyber clings
And Soto brings
Cheer to Flushing Meadow.
Where the hell can we go?
We’ll just have to wait,
For that same-old, same-old summer wind.
Originally appeared in the indispensable Yankee blog, It is High, It is Far, It is…caught.