Bunt the First Two

LeiterWagnerFasterStrongr wrote: Gimme Hefner. Gimme Cohoon. Gimme veteran retread behind Door #2, sight unseen. I'd 5-6 guaranteed starts from Batista over 1 more from Schwinden. Schwinden starts make me angry far beyond proper proportion. Gimme Hefner, Mark Cohoon Start Jon Rauch, that tattoed goon On two days rest, start Dillon Gee Just keep Chris Schwinden far from me! Garret Olson, Dylan Owen Where's Jon Adkins?! Get him throwin'! Brian Lawrence! Brian Stokes! Why you laughin'? These ain't jokes! I confess before you all My heart was cruel, my mind was small I pierced a voodoo doll with pin Cut Pelfrey down, and brought on Schwin So blue is blue and black is black And God I want my Pelfrey back Or Hamulack, Nieve, Misch Oh, Ollie P., for thee I wish! Pitchers come and pitchers go Pitchers wind and pitchers throw And if they miss, we curse their name And if they're hit, we rain down blame So move on Schwinden, try your luck The Met fan is a fickle fuck Some day when the runs rain down We'll pro'bly want you back in town

Bal'more takes its toll on me It's got me in the dumps The pigskin team hires murderers The baseball team hires chumps Bal'more takes its toll on me The picture is unkind The industry has took the jobs And left the waste behind Bal'more takes its toll on me It's getting to my head The flora is all dying The fauna is all dead Bal'more takes its toll on me A US town, all right With southern racial scarring And northern urban blight Bal'more takes its toll on me I'm getting to my point I met this little redhead girl One evening in Fell's Point Bal'more takes its toll on me For I told this girl my dream Of a jewel upon the Chesapeake Of my great revival scheme Bal'more takes its toll on me But we will someday surprise The trampled ghosts of Hampden Like phoenices, arise Bal'more takes its toll on me But I think it could be grand The town of Poe and Eubie Blake Would once more proudly stand Bal'more takes its toll on me Oh, see it now with me! Great ships again would sail to her From every nation free! Bal'more takes its toll on me I saw it in her eyes "I've run on at length," I said "Let me apologize" Bal'more takes its toll on me She said "I think you're dear But soon as I have got the cash My ass is out of here"

Look Out Forest Hills Da spring has spring, da grass has riz. I wonder where da Dodgers is? No line at Ebbets do I see. I don�t know where da flock can be. Oh yeah, dat�s right, dey flew da coop, To play in smog dat�s tick as soup. How bout da Jints skippin too? No one to heckle when I�m blue. Da one arm jernts are kinda quiet. No more Jints and Dodgers in a riot. Dat O�Malley�s some kinda hoople. Anyting to make a ruble. Dose greedy guys ain�t never grateful. He stole da team right from da faitful. To tinka rootin for da Phillies, Gives me d.t.�s and da willies. I guess I�m troo wid baseball. Tennis any a youse guys? John Wanzilak Circa 1958

Hardly seems worth the poll. There isn't a lot of of contrast. Strong jaws, athletic builds, Palin-type upsweeps to the hair. They're even the same size except for the one on the right. But the photos are fun, even if Dillon's face is sort of treated as a subject to avoid. His hair too, as best as that can be worked.

KariAnn Gee, O KariAnn Gee RFK Stadium, sitting near me I asked who's that lady --- so young and so free? She turned and she smiled: "The name's Mrs. Gee" "My husband's the pitcher, today he debuts And he'll make The Times, The Post, and The News The puns he'll inspire, the bats he'll retire For he throws with my love, and my love is on fire" Oft have I seen a young Sheila's affection And oft have I charmed them back in my direction For I --- an Australian, a scoundrel, a scamp Played love with no rules, and was known as the champ My loyalty torn: My Mets! My libido! ("The flesh must come first!" was my long-guiding credo) But to see Dillon mow down the Nash'nals that night Was to see KariAnn and her smile in new light I instead stood beside her! My love was for him! She told of the minors, long nights at the gym Of torn ACLs, of road trips in limbo A major league angel, no baseball bride bimbo And so, as I saw bold Dillon dismember That lineup that night, I chose to befriend her Her ally! Defender! Allied to her gender! I! Who would like' scheme to kiss and to bend her! And so I looked back at my life with distaste To know such delights on a night O so chaste At RFK Stadium, sitting near me KariAnn Gee, O KariAnn Gee

John Cougar Lunchbucket wrote: Nice work! Believe Gay Jay ('Not a True Yankee But a Certified, Genuine Douche') Burnett opposes Capuano in Game 2. Game 3 is Ivan navI vs. Big Pelf. The big question for the Mets in this series is whether Dickey can regain his old form and give us the mo. He's gotta be better than the other guy, I know that's not asking much considering he's Freddy Garcia but here we are. Looking forward to introducing Pedro Beato to these fucks. Beato, Beato Girls praying at the grotto 'Don't let my Daddy face him, Lord 'Cuz Daddy won't do squatto'

I'll be damned if I can think of where you'll find one of those.

Ode to Chris Young Through Princeton's halls, his name is sung The smartest Met of all: Chris Young To meet the man, I climb a rung The tallest Met of all: Chris Young The pitches from his awesome frame The wisdom from his tongue Of diamond and of hardwood fame The man they call Chris Young Of Jackie's fight, of freedom sprung The thesis of our Met: Chris Young Two years of pain, the elbow stung The burden of our Met: Chris Young Let foes all cry before the name Let pennants soon be hung The master of the scoreless frame The man they call Chris Young

Would you send these brave men into battle without tribute?! I would think not! And yet, I see here ambiguity persisting about the pronunciation of our rookie star! Are we not poets?! So get your jive on and scribble your rousing anthem in praise of... Pedro Beato Carlos Beltran Blaine Boyer Taylor Buchholz Tim Byrdak Chris Capuano D.J. Carrasco Ike Davis R.A. Dickey Lucas Duda Brad Emaus Daniel Murphy Scott Hairston Willie Harris Chin-lung Hu Mike Nickeas Jon Niese Angel Pagan Bobby Parnell Mike Pelfrey Jose Reyes Francisco Rodriguez Josh Thole David Wright Chris Young. Such men as these deserve no less. It's easy. And I'll begin. Ode to Pedro Beato Beato! Beato! You ask me what he's gotto? Stuff that's making Pujols flail Like Frank Catalanotto Beato! Beato! Girls praying at the grotto "Don't let my daddy face him, Lord 'Cuz batters can't do squatto" He's warming in the bullpen He's not there to grow toma(h)to Echoes sound when he warms up "Beato! -ato! -ato!" Beato! Beato! The Mets have won the Lotto Just don't pronounce his last name wrong Our hero's called "Bay-AH-to!"

Churchie and Nady, Burnitz, Derek Bell Look back, see, we had them in right for a spell Fate turns, yes it does, and each would move on Ask, and I'll tell you, to Pittsburgh they've gone You cry out for help, but to fate, you're a pawn New York Pergatory to Steel City Hell Churchie and Nady, Burnitz, Derek Bell

From the earliest days Ya bunt the first two Ruth, Williams, and Mays Ya bunt the first two Salty old coach is dealing the slop You slide your hand down and perhaps your hips drop A cool satisfaction as ball takes a flop You return to your stance and you're ready to pop Ya bunt 'em, ya bunt 'em, ya bunt the first two Veterans and the rookies Ya bunt the first two Kingmans and Mookies Ya bunt the first two The great equalizer from times immemorial For all kings and peasants, they need that tutorial "Be prepared!' comes the cry, at times dictatorial For e'en Earl Weaver would tell every Oriole Ya bunt 'em, ya bunt 'em, ya bunt the first two The serious player Must bunt the first two The slugger, the sprayer Must bunt the first two It's one part dis'pline, one part preparation 'Cuz ya gotta be ready for each sitchyation Some think it won't come, they lack 'magination You start with the basics, and lay the foundation Ya bunt 'em, ya bunt 'em, ya bunt the first two

If you're going to overpay Overpay for Ollie Christmas eve is here today And Christmas should be jolly Ollie can be widely variant But Lowe's an obnoxious wiener And I know what Keith and Gary meant When they praised young Ollie's demeanor So, I'm clinging to the familiar And I fear the enemy hireling You may find my perspective sillier My wife does; as does my sireling Lowe's not alone in adulte-ray To think so would be rank folly But if you're going to overpay Overpay for Ollie Joyeux No�l

Well, I's hopin' to see Willie I'd've settled for Mazzilli My standards, they were lowerin' by the day And I'd love to have seen Snider Throw a pitch to Brian Schneider But the promotions team whored out the final year at Shea! Talkin' Lincoln! A giant Navigator Talkin' Lincoln! The Town Car's so much greater A 48 month basic warranty I swear that it gets 15 MPG On the Cross Bronx..., Throg's Neck, and LIE They could bring back Davey Johnson I'd've liked to see Don Hahn, son Takashi Kashiwada'd be a gas Roger Craig's a relic But fuck it, get Chris Jelic But another stuffed-suit sponsor guy, that's just ass! Talkin' Merc'ry! Buy the wife a Sable Talkin' Merc'ry! Mountaineer, if you're able Suck sweetly from the corporate teat like me And drive your gas hog o'er the BQE And the Cross Bronx..., Throg's Neck, and LIE I cried "Give me Ron Taylor" "John Stearns or just Bob Bailor" "Try Buddy, Elster, Rafael, and Rey" "The widow of Frisella" "The hat of John Pacella" "Ed Glynn, Doug Flynn, And Billy Wynne could make my day!" Talkin' sponsors! Devouring our sports cultures Talkin' sponsors! Insatiable like vultures I think of Jeter on the Mets TV It makes me want to swerve into a tree On the Cross Bronx..., Throg's Neck, and LIE (And there's lots more like me...) (Looks like the Mets took strike three...)

It's almost like the Braves are playing like they want to win. These are the saddest of possible words Reyes advances the runner A team-killing strategy meant for the birds Reyes advances the runner I tear at my hair and I cry in my pillow Not a huge sin but a dumb pecadillo Leaving it all up to Luis Castillo Reyes advances the runner

In place.

To wake up in the morning haven fallen asleep before the end of a late west coast game is to wake up still in Metland.

Frayed Knot wrote: a) nobody really 'jumped the gun' because no one ever said it was a done deal, only that it was likely Well, let's be fair. *62 jumped the gun.

How I love my Mets Beard Which grows out of my face It takes us through the playoffs Since we came in firstest place But my woman says I'm prickly Too roughened now to kiss "But that's my Mets Beard, Baby Makes Nomar swing and miss" I'll ever love you, Mets Beard You understand me well For the mystic ways you help my team No human tongue can tell But my boss says I look grubby A vagrant and a slob I tell them of the base hits My beard helped Shawn Green rob Let them hate us, Mets Beard For you I give a shout As I listen to the Mets win As my desk I'm cleaning out But my kids say that I'm scary That I don't look like Dad Perhaps more like Pat Zachry But how could that be bad? But you'll not leave me, Mets Beard Though others turn away You power lends precision To each Reyes double play And each double hit by Beltran Wright's bat and Glavine's arm You send the Mets your power And send the rivals harm So be my wife, sweet Mets Beard Be my job and child Be my raison d'etre Make my visage wild Somehow, someway we matter When the Mets are winning games Floyd, Martinez, Valentin And the other hallowed names And when at last I shave you With the pennant on the wall I'll have naught left there with me To share this awesome fall I'll return you to the cosmos Your power to dispense Of mighty magic strikeouts And balls hit o'er the fence I'll restart my life clean-shaven No job or family, true But I'll wear the hat of champions Of Metly royal blue

Red, it is the locks a-curling under Rusty's hat Blue describes a helmet on a Met Yellow, that is Clemens, when he's letting fly a bat Green, I call the vomit he'd beget Orange are the letters on a classic Metly lid Purple is a Lindsey Nelson coat Brown, I think of Lorn, who came when Lindsey "goodbye" bid White, I offer Rick, on whom I dote Black describes the kitty cat that crossed the Cubbies path Gray's my mood when Met men cannot score Tan would be the infield 'fore its seventh inning bath Pink's my nose at Shea on April four Pastel tones in baseball, a sartorial mistake Gold is Gooden's chain and Gooden's tooth Silver slugger trophies are what Mike would always take Bronze, the age of Casey Stengel's youth

Pedro's Picasso.He's like Joan Mir�.He paints the cornerLike a Metly Van Gogh.Pedro's da Vinci.He's like Johannes Vermeer.Thank you, Fred WilponFor bringing him here.