The people writing the baseball rulebook
Really wrote down things like:
“When you throw a ball and it isn’t a ball
But it doesn’t get hit it’s a strike.”
But the people who wrote the tennis book
Just smiled, or so says the lore,
When they revealed their brand new way
To calculate the score.
I’m my softball league’s head chef;
For optimal nutrition
I like to make a Bundt cake
To get guys in a scoring position.
My child asked me this morning
“If hitting is bad,
“How come people hit baseballs?”
Then he flew away.
I later discovered
He was not my child at all.
It was an oriole in disguise.
His sudden aversion to hitting
Makes sense now.
I took me out to a ball game,
Alas, to one with a crowd.
There they sold peanuts and alcohol
‘Cause Cracker Jack’s racist and traditional.
There I learned baseball tactics
And how to play the game right
From a screaming drunk woman
Who looked like a dark alley at night.
“Hit the ball!” Was her opener.
“Throw a strike” later came.
Then was “Make people stop not getting out
“And you’ll win the whole (censored) game!”
It turns out this lady’s cheerleading
Did lead the home team to win
So if you’re still an Orioles fan
Bud Light’s a good place to begin.
Like the full moon’s silhouette
In the cloudless morning sky
The baseball whispered through the air
And smacked me in the eye.
It’s not a good analogy
Nor a comfortable event
But it gets the basic point across
Of how the ballgame went.
“Batter Up!” The umpire yelled,
And then he screamed in fright
As the crowd smeared uncooked pancakes on themselves
And ran off into the night.
Up goes the ball.
Up goes the excitement.
Uo goes the hot dog guy into the ambulance.
Up go the youtube views.
It’s not my fault! It was the sun!
Some dust got in my eyes!
The ump said ball. It was a strike.
This game is naught but lies!
We said good game, but it was not.
We’re better anyway.
Their uniforms are lower class.
Their coach is probably gay.
We lost it all. I missed the catch
Eleven innings in,
My glove an inch from victory,
A mile from a win.
Thus we nine fallen warriors
Shook hands with better men,
And so we slept among our tears
And rose to fight again.
Today our team faces the Knights
In a thrilling afternoon match.
The Knights are undefeated
And have never missed a catch.
The sky is blue, the grass is green,
The clouds are fluffy white.
The weather report says “chance of rain”
And I’m praying that it’s right.
I am a designated hitter,
But I find my batting’s better
Than when I was avoiding butter
Trying to earn a varsity letter.
So perhaps this serves to show us
Maybe butter betters batting
And that chugging before slugging
Has effects besides the fatting,
But butter-bettered batting
Causes blatantly bungled bunting.
Perhaps my solution
Requires a bit of better hunting.