Big Red Rant by Petey Hendrix - August 28 Edition

The author was thinking the other day that one thing this site lacks is a poetry section devoted solely to Corey Patterson. Fortunately, we have guest contributor Petey Hendrix who recogned this omission. Good work Pete.

Corey at the Bat

The outlook wasn't brilliant for the ‘Nati Nine that day;
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play,
And then when Jolbert died at first, and Bako did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go. But Dusty had a wish
“I’ll send my secret weapon up to stand proud at the dish,”
He thought, "If only Corey could but get a whack at that —
I paid three million bucks this year, to get Corey and his bat."

But Edwin preceded Corey, as did Javy Valentin,
And the former was “not clutch”, the latter a girthy bean;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat;
For there seemed little chance of getting past Corey’s at-bat.

But EdE lined a single, to the wonderment of all,
And then the Latin Love Machine, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,
There was Javy safe at second and Edwin hugging third.

Then from five thousand throats or less there rose a hearty boo;
None of the Reds fans could believe was Dusty was to do;
We expected a pinch-hitter, to face the lefty specialist
But Corey, mighty Corey, was being sent up to the dish.

There was ease in Corey's manner as he left the on-deck circle;
He tugged his pants up heartily, he sadly looked like Erkel.
And when, responding to the boos, Dusty still stood pat,
Despite the trust of all Reds fans, still stood Corey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were rolling: three righties rode the pine!
To give Corey one more chance to top the Mendoza line.
Then while the relieved reliever exhaled heartily a sigh,
Marty snarled into the mic, “Why do they keep this guy?”

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!"
The gall of this owner, GM and manager does awe.
They send out their releases filled with promises that pledge
To give the youngsters playing time, to help them hone their edge.

But now with the game on the line, perhaps a win to earn,
To whom does go the at-bat with the lessons to be earned?
Not a youngster, as they promise, while they swear to you they care
Instead, Dusty sends up Patterson…it hardly does seem fair.

But toothpick in hand, he’ll defend himself, as Baker tends to do
With lovely prose that gives one pause, but simply is not true
He prattles on about how Corey’s the best choice that day
Nonsensically, truth rides the pine: “He hits lefties better anyway.”

Sneers have erupted on Reds fans’ lips, their teeth are clenched in hate;
They’d all give blood, each one of them, to have a youngster at the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Corey's blow.

And then with undue haste and verve the Cincy masses groan.
As Corey swings at the first pitch, no matter where it’s thrown
And somewhere men are laughing, and little children shout;
But there is no joy in ‘Nati — mighty Corey has flied out.

Original By Ernest Lawrence Thayer
Bastardization by Petey Hendrix