One late night in Chicago I break into Wrigley Field It’s early spring the season isn’t starting for a week It’s a little after midnight I bin playing down the street At an open mic at a little bar, just under the L tracks I’d noticed for a couple weeks they bin doin’ some work on the ballpark They got scaffolding up I climb in I go check out the bat rack and I straighten out my hat Sit down on the bench where Fergie Jenkins sat Walk slowly to the mound, where I stretch and then I glide Fire a couple high and tight and then strike out the side I step to the plate, take a couple low, swing with all my might, watch it go Over the wall Tonight I got the ballpark Tonight I got the ballpark Tonight I got the ballpark All to myself I run in the outfield grass like Moe, Curly and Larry Announce a couple innings from the press box just me-- And Harry Caray I make a leaping catch against the ivy-covered wall The early season ivy is a cushion to my fall I trot in from the warning track, my cap it tips the crowd Float across the infield, it’s really getting loud I race toward third, turn on a dime, dig for home, headfirst slide Sandberg in his prime Tonight I got the ballpark Tonight I got the ballpark Tonight I got the ballpark All to myself

Tonight I feel so far away, so far away from you What did you do tonight I'm drivin my truck up and down the coast From north of Seattle to the Mexico line Right now, I'm in San Bernardino All day long it was 95 degrees But at least tonight I get to hear The golden voice of Vin Scully I've been stuck in this goin’ no place desk job For too many months, it's time to move on If I quit and just tried to do my paintings I wonder if I could come up with the rent I still root for the Yankees back east Never did take to these local teams But at least tonight I get to hear The golden voice of Vin Scully Ooh, I do my share, I knock about Ooh, is anything gonna work out Sometimes I'm almost out of range, I head south of the valley And pick up the game Pull off the road, step out of the van Lean against the hood still hot from the drive Trees fade out in the black of the night Some days it don’t hardly seem worth the fight But at least tonight I get to hear The golden voice of Vin Scully

The moon is hanging low The leaves are on the ground This winter will be long and cold I do believe the birds have even stopped singing The Giants lost the World Series I do admit I worry ‘bout the great Barry Bonds How will he feel with no ring on his finger? He's basically Mays and Ruth rolled into one But how will he feel with no ring? Mays got his early Aaron got one too Banks never did But you expect that with the Cubs. And of course everybody whoever played for the Yanks Has rings on their fingers and toes. A five-nothing lead with nine outs to go Get six more outs somehow And then Nen for the save I'll carry the thought of a five-nothing lead With nine outs to go, to my grave. I was in England, Far far away, I stayed up til five Suffering alone And when it was over, I even thought maybe The result might be different in America. Dusty, oh Dusty, Why'd you pull Ortiz? Why'd you pull Rodriguez? Why'd you pull Worrell? I rubbed my eyes and tried to understand How Nen was on the mound with no outs in the eighth. A five-nothing lead... And now it seems the team is falling apart, Dusty is gone to the Cubs (good luck Dusty!) Kent's gone, Ortiz is gone, Bell's gone, Sanders too, I guess they were just Giants for a while The moon is hanging low, the leaves are on the ground, This winter will be long and cold. I do believe the birds have even stopped singing. The Giants lost the World Series A five-nothing lead with nine outs to go Get six more outs somehow And then Nen for the save I'll carry the thought of a five-nothing lead With nine outs to go, to my grave

If his knees hadn't got sick He'd have made the big leagues, like his hero, the Mick He wore number seven on his back, like the Mick But his knees got sick So he had to quit He had the quickness, he had the size He could hit a ball further than Johnny Mize He was blond on top But his knees went pop So he had to stop Had to give it up (chorus) If you get thrown out of the game and get sent on your way You can come back the very next day After having, having had your say But that's on a field of nine Which is not ruled by time And it don't work out so fine On this side of the white lines On this side of the white lines If his Dad hadn't got sick They'd have argued nights over their World Series picks Who's better than the Yanks Who's better than the Mick He was tough as a brick But he still got sick They were close as a father and son could be Close as the surgeon is to the knee He waited for his Dad to make his climb But he wasn't gonna get better, not this time (chorus) He plays softball now when he's got the time When he ain't too beat, and the knees feel fine He ain't forgot how to swing that stick And he says to himself, “just like the Mick” Ty Cobb never got to face Dizzy Dean Joe Jackson's best was never seen He held a private funeral mass All alone in the park by the outfield grass (chorus)

Evan throws the hard ball for his high school club 83 miles an hour on the radar gun His coach says get it up to 90, kid, in a year or two, And scouts from the major leagues will come looking for you And it's seven miles an hour, seven miles an hour Seven miles an hour from easy street Seven miles an hour, seven miles an hour Seven miles an hour from easy street His Mama says, playing ball is too uncertain, son. Go to college, get an education like we done His Dad says son, the junkyard is littered with the arms Of high school pitchers who threw 83 down on the farm And it's seven miles an hour, seven miles an hour Seven miles an hour from easy street I remember when they came looking at Jenkins I thought for sure he'd get in But Jenkins never had what this kid has You can tell by the way he holds his chin And it's seven miles an hour, seven miles an hour Seven miles an hour from easy street Seven miles an hour, seven miles an hour Seven miles an hour from easy street

He looked like an apparition Like a ghost without the sheet But his eyes burned like a stove pipe As he limped along the street He walked by me slow but firmly Knew he wouldn't stop to chat But I thought that I might help him He shook his head and touched his hat He said I've come to see The Babe They say Babe Ruth is dyin' I've come to lift his spirits Just like he once lifted mine I can't promise any homers I'm no Sultan of Swat But I'll be up there swingin' With everything I got Years ago I lay in bed My life hung like a rope My sickly frame was wracked with pain They said there was no hope But the big guy would have none of that He just sneered at tragedy He hit four home runs that Series And every one for me Thanks to those arcing wallops My wretched body healed Thanks to the greatest player That ever took the field And as he stood above me My eyes alert but dim I never thought that someday I'd be staring down at him And I've come to see The Babe They say Babe Ruth is dyin' I've come to lift his spirits Just like he once lifted mine I can't promise any homers I'm no Sultan of Swat But I'll be up there swingin' With everything I got Before there was Paul Bunyan Before old Honest Abe Before there was John Henry There always was The Babe He took a hundred million spirits And said dare to be a land He took one dying child And said stand up and be a man And I've come to see The Babe They say Babe Ruth is dyin' I've come to lift his spirits Just like he once lifted mine I can't promise any homers I'm no Sultan of Swat But I'll be up there swingin' With everything I got

Well, I was writing a play About Pete Rose and Bart Giamatti It takes place in a Motel 6 Just outside of Cincinnati There's a table and a bottle of whiskey They're drinking but they light a cigarette first Pete Rose looks terrible Giamatti looks worse Giamatti says Pete, be straight with me Have you been gambling on games? Pete says Commissioner Where I come from, we bet on everything Commissioner says Let's get to the point, Pete Did you ever bet on your own team? I’m not sure what Pete's gonna reply But I think I'll have the telephone ring It's gonna be Shoeless Joe Jackson Calling from Tangiers He says Commissioner, if you don't throw him out What have I been doing all these years Bagging groceries and painting houses Having to beg and steal and rob Pete tries to grab the receiver, says I could tell you stuff about Ty Cobb Then I hear a knocking A knocking at my door It's my sweet baby And I open up And she crawls in on the floor Says put down your paper and pen, boy That can wait another day I say what's wrong? She grabs my leg and says All I’ve got to say is Are you gambling with my love Are you saying you don't care Are you gambling with my love While you sit there in that chair Are you gonna gamble Are you gonna gamble Gambling with my love I say girl, I got backers I’ve got money people waiting for this stuff I’ve got a theatre off-Broadway convinced One act ain't gonna be enough I said I’m starting to roll with this dialogue I’m getting inside Pete Rose's head I say he can taste the Hall of Fame She says don't you want to taste me instead? I say girl, do you understand how with four thousand hits A man could still feel emptiness? And I have Pete say Commissioner, what you got in your hand? And he says can't you guess? Pete says if I was a betting man I'd say you were trying to bluff me to my face Commissioner says too bad you ain't as good playing the odds As you are playing second base Ooh, gambling with my love So she says well, what does Mrs. Rose have to say about all this? I say I don't know, I haven't thought about Mrs. Rose And I lean over and give my baby a kiss She says you've got two guys in a hotel room No other characters, no special effects? I say there's plenty of drama there She says three acts, no sex She says there is a Mrs. Rose, though, yeah? I say yeah, there is, I suppose She says what's their chemistry? What are her specifics? Does she have a wig? Does she wear support hose? I say baby, you're wearing me out I need a break What do you say we turn down the bed She looks at me She rolls her eyes Grabs my pen and says Are you gambling with my love Are you saying you don't care Are you gambling with my love While you sit there in that chair Are you gonna gamble Are you gonna gamble Gambling with my love So now it goes like this Pete Rose and Giamatti in a hotel room Mrs. Rose bursts in and says Damn it, Pete, I carried your children in my womb She says Mr. Giamatti, you need this man As much as he needs you She says judge not lest ye be judged Turns to Pete and says Are you gambling with my love Are you saying you don't care Are you gambling with my love While you sit there in that chair Are you gonna gamble Are you gonna gamble Gambling with my love

Sometimes I think about it when I’m all alone When I’m walking ‘round home and it’s late at night And I don’t feel right and I just can’t sleep And I can’t keep the dark from pourin’ out It was a gray afternoon at the Polo Grounds Merkle should have touched second base Tie game, two outs, bottom of the ninth Merkle should have touched second base Cubs in the field and the Giants at the plate Merkle should have touched second base A Giant on third and Merkle on first Merkle should have touched second base Gotta go the whole way, make it a sure thing Don’t leave, don’t leave nothing to chance The Giant at the plate hits a single up the middle Merkle should have touched second base The Giant on third brings the winning run home Merkle should have touched second base Merkle on first starts trotting up to second Merkle should have touched second base He pulls up short and he runs off the field Merkle should have touched second base Gotta go the whole way, make it a sure thing Don’t leave, don’t leave nothing to chance Frank Chance was the peerless leader of the Cubs Merkle should have touched second base He calls for the ball and he steps on the bag Merkle should have touched second base The ump yells yer out! and he takes the run away Merkle should have touched second base Extra innings, Chicago wins Merkle should have touched second base Gotta go the whole way, make it a sure thing Don’t leave, don’t leave nothing to chance Pennant ends tied ‘tween the Giants and the Cubs Merkle should have touched second base They play one game with the season on the line Merkle should have touched second base Chicago wins, Merkle doesn’t even play Merkle should have touched second base And all he hears til the end of his days is Merkle should have touched second base Gotta go the whole way, make it a sure thing Don’t leave, don’t leave nothing to chance Sometimes I think about it when I’m all alone Merkle should have touched second base When I’m walkin' round home and it’s late at night Merkle should have touched second base And I don’t feel right and I just can’t sleep Merkle should have touched second base And I can’t keep the dark from pourin’ out Merkle should have touched second base Gotta go the whole way, make it a sure thing.... Hitler would have never invaded Poland Merkle should have touched second base Monica Lewinsky woulda married Dan Quayle Merkle should have touched second base My mother and my dad woulda raised me as a wolf Merkle should have touched second base Godot woulda shown up in the second act Merkle should have touched second base Gotta go the whole way, make it a sure thing Don’t leave, don’t leave nothing to chance

This is the year-by-year home run totals of the great Barry Bonds This is the year-by-year home run totals of the great Barry Bonds In 1986, he hit 16 home runs Then 25, 24, 19, 33 25, 34, 46, 37, 33, 42, 40 37, 34 and 49 73, 46, 45, 45, 5, 26, 28 This is the year-by-year home run totals of the great Barry Bonds This is the year-by-year home run totals of the great Barry Bonds He won the MVP in 1990, 1992 and ’93 And ’01 and ’02 and ’03 and ’04 This is the year-by-year home run totals of the great Barry Bonds This is the year-by-year home run totals of the great Barry Bonds In 1986, he hit 16 home runs Then 25, 24, 19, 33 25, 34, 46, 37, 33, 42, 40 37, 34 and 49 73, 46, 45, 45, 5, 26, 28 This is the year-by-year home run totals of the great Barry Bonds This is the year-by-year home run totals of the great Barry Bonds

First it was Pluto, the furthest, coldest planet They said it’s not a planet after all Then suddenly a dollar wasn’t worth a dollar And banks too big to fail began to fall All of this and more, I could accept—that’s how things go But now I’m down here begging, on my knees ‘Cause now they’re trying to tell us Lou Gehrig didn’t die Of Lou Gehrig’s Disease You all remember Lou, they Yankee slugger who Along with Babe Ruth made the Bronx bombers go Ruth he batted third, Gehrig batted fourth A little thing called Murderer’s Row Change history, make it new, Lindbergh sailed the ocean blue But don’t tear down my idols please Don’t say Lou Gehrig didn’t die Never be another Gehrig Never be another Ruth All the modern sluggers Got there on the juice Ripken broke the Iron Horse’s streak But Ripken didn’t have his own disease…. Whose disease is it, whose disease was it If you didn’t catch it, if you did not contract it Jim Bob Jorgensen’s Disease? Flora Richardson’s Disease Chan-Ho’s Disease? Muhammad Braznakar’s Disease Whose Disease Was It? Next they’ll be sayin Grant isn’t buried In Grant’s tomb—nope—guy named Pettit The White House isn’t white, Red Square isn’t red And the Alamo—forget it Mondale, he beat Reagan, Nixon, he beat Kennedy And Lassie—well Lassie had fleas If Lou Gehrig didn’t die Of Lou Gehrig’s Disease

Joyce and Gallarraga, Joyce and Gallarraga, Joyce and Gallarraga, Perfect game—No! Joyce and Gallarraga, Joyce and Gallarraga, Joyce and Gallarraga, Perfect game—No! 26 men up, 26 men down Gallarraga with the game of his career The 27th—Yes! But Joyce he blew the call Now go and drown your sorrows for a year (for ten years) Joyce and Gallarraga, Joyce and Gallarraga, Joyce and Gallarraga, Perfect game—No! Joyce and Gallarraga, Joyce and Gallarraga, Joyce and Gallarraga, Perfect game—No! The umpire saw the tape, saw what he had done He broke down and he cried said I’m to blame (just kill me) The pitcher said forget it, and gave the ump a hug It’s just my one and only perfect game Just my one and only perfect game This could have been history This should have been a perfect day Now it’s only the very best Argument for instant replay (instant replay) Joyce and Gallarraga, Joyce and Gallarraga, Joyce and Gallarraga, Perfect game—No! Joyce and Gallarraga, Joyce and Gallarraga, Joyce and Gallarraga, Perfect game—No!

We’re gonna miss him, we’re gonna miss him, Joe Girardi said it Come back Andy, come back Andy, come back Andy Pettitte Sabathia, Nova, Hughes, Burnett and Garcia ain’t a gonna get it Come back Andy, come back Andy, come back Andy Pettitte Is the staff as good as Lester Lackey Bucholz Beckett Matsuzaka, I doubt it Can the bullpen hold a lead, get the game to Mariano, Fuggeddaboutit February 4 was a dark day when in the daily news I read it Come back Andy, come back Andy, come back Andy Pettitte

Zambrano was your horse Zambrano was your train Zambrano who you brought in To get the job done But Piniella yanked Zambrano Tied at one after six And the next guy got lit up And you’ve lost Game One Piniella later said Gonna need him Sunday Gonna need Zambrano This was only Game One But that one got away And the couple after that And sometimes, sometimes Sunday never – Sometimes Sunday never comes Sometimes Sunday never comes Sometimes life is a five-game series And Sunday never comes The Cubs is done For another long winter Zambrano can pack his Elbow in ice Piniella yanked Zambrano Zambrano is done, and Sometimes, sometimes Sunday never – Sometimes Sunday never comes Sometimes Sunday never comes Sometimes life is a five-game series And Sunday never comes

From my second story window I look down on Rincon Up the coast of California Where I’ve come looking for the great Barry Bonds one final summer His health has broken down So I’ve forsaken San Francisco And I’ve heard that Bonds might be here Seeking non-traditional medicine But I see nothing but the craps games From my second story window In Rincon where I’ve come looking for Bonds And from my second story window I see the mayor in his chambers Signing execution papers For the prisoners of conscience And the women throw bananas In the street and moments later They are grey and flat and lifeless Beyond all recognition Oh some say the most powerful Force on earth is water But from my second story window It seems to be the cars And Christopher Columbus Come looking for the spice isles, and Montezuma Come looking for the gold, and Charlie Chaplin Come looking for the silver screen, I come looking for Bonds Bonds come looking for the cure Magic cure And the fishermen go out To return again at dusk And they love the constant rain The fish jump into their nets But I am not a fisherman And to me the rain can only Keep Bonds inside his window If he’s even in Rincon, of which I’m More and more uncertain ‘Specially with this rain And the news reports each hour He’s being tested in Los Angeles, And I found my friends Just when I doubted myself most They took me on a walk along the cinnamon And they said this rain This rain can’t last forever People will walk around not just the fishermen And from my second story window The fog enfolds the fishermen Like ghosts along the harbor As their boats go out to sea And my eyes alert but softly As I stand inside my window I will not miss the moment If Bonds should pass below me And Christopher Columbus Come looking for the spice isles, and Montezuma Come looking for the gold, and Charlie Chaplin Come looking for the silver screen, I come looking for Bonds Bonds come looking for the cure Magic cure

I used to mime the Doc, throwing K’s up on the hill But coach put me at first base, I tried my best but still I couldn’t hit the curve ball, I was second string at best It would take a miracle to get called off the bench Left New York for California, fell for the first girl that I met She gave me a new season, one I hadn’t seen as yet I still followed all the ball scores, down to every single game I’ve forgotten all the players but I can’t forget her name Every game don’t roll your way I get down on my knees and pray That it won’t be in the Series Underneath October drums When my Buckner moment comes When my Buckner moment comes Let it be then in the springtime When the gulf waters run still Let the cameras not be rolling Let the grandstand not be filled The bar lights soft and hazy and it takes me off the street It’s nice to know a language I don’t ever have to speak My bases are loaded and the count is three and two I’ll look up at the sky, where to go, what to do Every game don’t roll your way I get down on my knees and pray That it won’t be in the Series Underneath October drums When my Buckner moment comes When my Buckner moment comes

Six inches either way they say McCovey’s shot gets thru And the Giants win it all in ’62 In ’89 the ground it shook Cars and homes were tossed And oh, by the way, the games were lost 2002 the roof fell in Just waiting on the brink We cried until we filled The kitchen sink with tears 2010 we reached the Promised Land The Golden Road And the Sun Shines on McCovey Cove Pitch to Barry, Fear the Beard Let Timmy Smoke Humm Babe, Pacific Sock Exchange Hit that Bottle of Coke For the dreams that westward drove For F.P. Santangelo The Sun Shines on McCovey Cove Willie, Speier, Barry, Bobby Reuschel, Marichal, Dick Dietz Montefusco, Alvin Dark Cepeda sliding cleats up Fillmore to the Golden Gate Down Market St they rode As the Sun Shines on McCovey Cove Torrealba, Perry, Speier, Kuiper, Jim Ray Hart Krukow, Woody, Clark and Williams, Mitchell Late nights on the BART Roger Craig and Charlie Fox Herman Franks, Bruce Bochy As the Sun Shines on McCovey Cove Torres, Sanchez, Posey, Ross, Huff, Burrell, Sandoval Rowand, Renteria Bumgarner, Cain and all Uribe, Wilson, Lincecum To history they drove As the Sun Shines on McCovey Cove

When Jackie Robinson slapped that uniform on When Jackie Robinson pulled that jersey on His eye was clear His voice rang true And the number on his back was 42 Born in Georgia Played in the Negro Leagues Switched to army green In the big war overseas Then the Big Leagues come a callin’ Said Mr. Robinson pull this on And the number on his back was 42 42 42 Number on his back was 42 42 42 Number on his back was 42 When Jackie Robinson hung that uniform up When Jackie Robinson lay that jersey down His eye was clear His voice was true And the number on his back was 42 Born in Georgia Played in the Negro Leagues Switched to army green In the big war overseas Then the Big Leagues come a callin’ Said Mr. Robinson pull this on And the number on his back was 42 42 42 Number on his back was 42 42 42 He wore Dodger blue And every color of the rainbow too 42

I decided to go to the ballgame today So I jump in the car and get on the freeway But the night’s real hot and the traffic slow Catch the first three innings on the radio Miss five grand slams, well ain’t that a shame All’s fair in love and war and a baseball game Comin’ out to the game was such a fine thing to do That 50,000 other people thought so too So I find me a scalper, who can’t be beat Twenty bucks for a front row gold box seat But the usher says sorry, that’s for yesterday’s game All’s fair in love and war and a baseball game So I bribe my way in, and I’m glad I’ve been patient I can almost see the field, with some imagination I drove thru the south side after dark For a view of the roof of Comiskey Park The guy next to me thought he caught me lookin’ at his dame So he punched me—that’s fair, at the baseball game A hot dog, some peanuts and a beer or two The most balanced meal I ever knew Then some guys says “all right, lemme hear ya now!” And everyone stretches, knockin’ over my chow I almost get thrown out for spillin’ beer on a Frain (that’s the usher) All’s fair in love and war and a baseball game Well by the time I’m able to turn my attention To the players on the field, whom I’ve hardly mentioned I ask my neighbor what’s happened, I missed the last play He turns to me and says rain delay I wait four hours just to hear the umpire say That’s it, go home, no more baseball game Took me five hours getting the old car back home Without gas, but with newly dented chrome Jump in bed, and I turn out the light Dream of scalpers and bad bleacher seats all night I needed plenty of rest, so I could take the same Trip the very next night, to the baseball game See you can spill my beer, or call me dumb Give me the worst seat in the stadium Hit me on the head with a batted ball But don’t take away my Bill Buckner doll Call me crazy take down my name All’s fair in love and war and a baseball game