Slide, Utley, Slide!

This blog has been dormant for some time, despite the amazing baseball that’s been going on this year, and my life has been changing a lot since then too. The blog may well go back to being dormant, I don’t know.

However, after the NLDS Game 2, John Thorn put out the call for song parodies of this 1880’s classic, and John Thorn doesn’t have to ask twice.

I played a game of baseball down at old Chavez Ravine
The crowd was intermittent, and the heat was fierce and keen
A nobler lot of people there might have chanced to play
But you would never hear that said from teammates in LA.
The game was quickly started while I sat on the bench
Waiting for Mattingly to call upon a would-be mensch.
Hernandez drew a walk and then it was my turn to bat,
Eked out a quiet single and there was no need to spat.

Slide, Utley, slide; the fray will never end
Slide, Utley, slide; your havoc they’ll suspend
If your blows are just too crushing, and you aren’t duly blushing
They won’t take you to Flushing; slide, Utley, slide!

Twas in the seventh inning they called me in, you’ll find
But once I got to first, moving along was on my mind.
But something was the matter, sure I couldn’t see the ball
But my slide into the base broke down Tejada’s leg and all
I was running down the baseline, I figured that he tripped
For when I tumbled into him, he got severely flipped.
‘Twas a most unpleasant feeling, though at first they called me out;
We both were ratlled, and that’s when the fans began to shout;

They overturned the play so to the base I got to go
The way they took Tejada out, it must have been a show.
On Gonzalez then depended the victory or defeat,
And he came through to show the world that we would not be beat.
Five to two was the score of the game when we got done,
But when I got suspended I thought that was much less fun.
The news got home ahead of me, they said I couldn’t play;
The fans told me that I should sue, and then began to say…

Yankee Stadium Playoff Closer

To chase is not to catch–it is to run
Always in pursuit even if you’ve won.
Catching’s for the defense, but undefended
The title passes on, the season ended.

It would have been little consolation.
The celebration would not be for you
Even though you did all that you could do,
If it was not enough. “What might have been?”
You’d ask, knowing when it ended you were
Impotent on deck. No, those who secure
The win earn this extra honor too. Not
The closer who got the saves, but the bat
That blew the last game so far open that
It didn’t need salvation, takes the prize.
The selection’s wise; the winning runs scored,
And the Yankees’ longtime force is restored.
You’ll find it written in the physics books
The law they call Hooke’s. Things always bounce back.
A derailed decade does get back on track.
Sometimes it’s slow, and many decades pass,
But always the mass goes back where it came.
Even repeating titles aren’t the same
When sines and cosines ebb and flow through time.
The Yankees, sublime, just ebb with more speed.
However, there’s another way to read
The formula. Euler set it up right:
Sines and cosines might as well be the things
That fans love best–imaginary springs.