Here’s to You, David Robertson
by David Bellel
We’d like to know a little bit about you for our files
We’d like to help you get more teammates like yourself
Look around you, all you see are ineffective guys
Stay around and keep the opposition from getting home
And here’s to you, David Robertson
The Yankees love you more than you will know (Wo, wo, wo)
God bless you please, David Robertson
Heaven holds a place for those who save
(Hey, hey, hey…hey, hey, hey)
Keep throwing strike outs so no one ever goes
Put them in their place when it calls for high stakes
It’s your little secret, your Robertson-like flair
Most of all, you’ve got us off the skids
Coo, coo, ca-choo, David Robertson
The Yankees love you more than you will know (Wo, wo, wo)
God bless you please, David Robertson
Heaven holds a place for those who save
(Hey, hey, hey…hey, hey, hey)
You’ll find David posting with the rest of Yankee stalwarts over at It Is High, It Is Far, It Is….Caught.
Derek Sends Us Reaching For The Bottle
by David Bellel
See that half black boy over there, runnin’ scared
His baseball game just goes half-throttle
He done quit getting high fives to choke full time
So now his fans are living in the bottle
See that half black boy over there, runnin’ scared
His baseball game just goes half-throttle
This ol’ man has got a problem
Can’t do hardly anything,
Minka won’t get a wedding ring but a bottle.
And don’t you think it’s a crime
When time after time, our old heroes send us reaching for the bottle
Living in a bottle
See that half brotha he was so fine before he
Stared to decline
While his fans hit the bottle
Last time he was fine was in 2009
and now he’s just markin’ time,
While his fans hit the bottle.
You’ll find David posting with the rest of Yankee stalwarts over at It Is High, It Is Far, It Is….Caught.
Ozzie-Mandius
by “larry”
I met a traveler from a twinkie land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in U.S. Cellular Field. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
`My name is Kenny Williams, GM of GMs:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
This was originally published on the SBNation blog, South Side Sox.
Dick Allen and the Ebonistics, “Echoes of November”
Dick Allen, who played for 15 years with the Phillies (Rookie of the Year, 1964) and White Sox (MVP, 1972), was also a fine soul singer. This song was released in 1968 on the Groovey Grooves label. His group once performed at halftime during a 76ers game. From Wikipedia, here’s a review of the performance from the Philadelphia Inquirer:
“Here came Rich Allen. Flowered shirt. Tie six-inches (152 mm) wide. Hiphugger bell-bottomed pants. A microphone in his hands. Rich Allen the most booed man in Philadelphia from April to October, when Eagles coach Joe Kuharich takes over, walked out in front of 9,557 people at the Spectrum last night to sing with his group, The Ebonistics, and a most predictable thing happened. He was booed. Two songs later though, a most unpredictable thing happened. They cheered Rich Allen. They cheered him as warmly as they have ever cheered him for a game winning home run.”
DUIs on the Rise (to the tune of ‘Camptown Races’)
by Stuart Shea
Players busted driving drunk,
Doo dah, doo dah!
Better that than shooting junk,
All the doo dah day!
Gonna drink all night!
Gonna play all day!
Bet my money on the one who’s bombed,
Throwin’ his career away!
.
