Beer in the Bullpen

Beer in the Bullpen

(a song waiting to be set to music)

The teams are in place for spring training;

In a month, the real season will start.

I cherish March Madness and football,

But baseball has dibs on my heart.

There’re so many games on the schedule,

Winners are always in doubt

(Except that the Washington Nationals

Don’t need all three strikes to be out).

      Chorus:

            Beer in the bullpen,

            Fans in the bleachers . . .

            Cheering that’s led

            By strange costumed creatures.

            What’s in the bullpen?

            Pitchers!  (of beer)

            I truly believe

            This will be the Cubs’ year.

I’m sure of a Red Sox implosion,

There’s no way the Cards will repeat,

The Yankees are bloated, the Brewers demoted,

The Braves will be kicked to the street.

I have a soft spot for the Phillies

(Due to Mike’s phan intervention).

I’ve heard there are teams on the West Coast,

But nobody pays much attention.

       Chorus:

            Beer in the bullpen,

            Cheeks full of gum . . .

            Rookies:  excited;

            Managers:  glum.

            Anthems are butchered,

            Painful to hear.

            I truly believe

            This will be the Cubs’ year.

A wonderful thing about baseball:

Its rhythms float free like confetti.

A pitcher can dither, a batter can wither . . .

Game’s on – thus sprache Giametti.

Despite Astroturf, it’s bucolic . . .

And games often stop if it’s raining.

Fans sit in the heat, and they drink and they eat:

We’re so happy it’s finally spring training.

     Chorus:

            Beer in the bullpen,

            Charges of doping,

            Anything’s possible!

            Wrigleyville’s hoping.

           

            Beer in the bullpen:

            It’s perfectly clear,

            After more than a century,

            This IS the Cubs’ year.