by Hart Seely
The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Yankee nine that night:
The score stood two to one, and with no rallies left in sight.
When Colin Curtis lined to first, out-foxed by pitcher Shields,
A sickly silence vexed the Bomber fans o’er Tampa’s fields.
The New York bats had wilted in a deep despair. The race
Had found them in a losing funk, a-mired in second place.
They thought, if only Jeter could unto the plate bestride,
They’d put up even money he could take one in the side.
Then from 5,000 Tampa throats there rose a lusty foam;
It rumbled ‘cross the plastic turf, it nearly popped the dome;
It rocked the mighty harbor ships returning from the sea,
With their bows a-colored rusty with dispersant from BP.
There was ease in Jeter’s manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Jeter’s bearing and a smile on Jeter’s face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly made a scene,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt he hoped to work a bean.
Ten thousand eyes were on him, as the scoreboard bellowed loud;
Five thousand tongues applauded; (down in Tampa, that’s a crowd.)
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
It seemed the Yankee captain might just take one in the lip.
And then the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Jeter stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped-
“IT HIT ME, OWWWW!” cried Jeter. “TAKE FIRST!” the umpire said.
Now from the former Devil Rays, there rose a mighty roar,
Like the warble from John Sterling aft a walk-off Yankee score.
“Kill him! Kill the umpire!” boomed Joe Maddon from his stand;
And the umpire said, “Yer out a’ here!” while Jeter rubbed his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity great Jeter’s visage shone;
He jogged to first a-smiling; he bade the game go on;
He rubbed his wrist and watched the scoreboard replay through his hat
Which proved the ball had merely struck the handle of his bat.
Oh, somewhere in this fevered land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere kids still dream;
But they’re still pissed off in Tampa: Jeter faked one for the team.
Hart Seely is the major domo of the Yankees blog, It is High, It is Far, It is….Caught.
Published in New York Yankees, Pure doggerel, Scandals, Tampa Bay Rays | Link to this poem | 2 Comments