So I dream of baseball season, when my Chicago White Sox can once again disappoint me, the Chicago Cubs can once again amuse me, and the Boston Red Sox can finally end the Curse of the Bambino. With thoughts of baseball running through my mind, the political news takes on an entirely different color. So, with respect to Ernest L. Thayer, I offer this poetic commentary:
Howard at the Bat
The outlook wasn't brilliant for the leftist nine that day;
The score stood Bush at 54 with but one year to play.
Then when Edwards got 6 percent, and Kerry did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A centrist few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to hope which springs eternal in each Democratic breast;
They thought if only Howard could but get a whack at that --
They'd ditch all the matching funds now with Howard at the bat.
But Gephardt preceded Howard, as did also Ol' Wes Clark,
The former was mind-numbing and the latter question-marked;
So upon that far-left multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Howard's getting to the bat.
But Gephardt dropped in Iowa, to the wonderment of all,
And Clark, indecisive, could not heed the Clintons' call;
And when the dust had lifted, and the left saw what had occurred,
There was Wesley beyond repair and Dickie in deep merde.
Then from Al Gore and his cronies there rose a lusty cry;
It rumbled throughout Harlem, it rattled in N.Y.;
It frightened Mrs. Clinton, and it knocked McAuliffe flat;
For Howard, mighty Howard, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Howard's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Howard's bearing, a stiff smile on Howard's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he said Bush was a rat,
No leftist in the crowd could doubt 'twas Howard at the bat.
Ten thousand eyes were on him in the Democrat debate;
Five thousand tongues applauded when about Iraq he'd prate.
Then while President Bush ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Howard's eye, a sneer curled Howard's lip.
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