Skip to comments.Obama at the Bat [the political version of "Casey at the Bat"]
Posted on 09/10/2008 5:19:42 AM PDT by DoughtyOne
The outlook was simply brilliant for the DNC-ville team that year;
The score stood two to one, with but one more curve to fear,
And then when Nancy died at first, and Clinton did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the DNC patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair, but the MSM's best;
Sang songs of "hope that springs eternal" within the human breast;
They thought, if only Obama could get but a whack at that -
They'd put up even money, now, with Obama at the bat.
But Ried preceded Obama, as did the Biden snake,
And the former was a lulu and the latter was a fake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Obama's getting to the bat.
But Ried let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Biden, the much dispised, tore the cover off the ball;
When convention dust had lifted, men saw what had occurred,
There was Biden safe at second and Ried a hugging third.
Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Obama, mighty Obama, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Obama's manner as the stepped into his place;
There was pride in Obama's bearing and a smile upon his face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Obama at the bat.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on this shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Obama's eye, a sneer curled up his lip.
And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Obama stood a watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped,
"That ain't my style," said Obama. "Strike one," the umpire said.
From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand;
And it's likely they'd a killed him had not Obama raised his hand.
With a smile of leftist pride great Obama's visage shown;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to McCain, and once more the spheroid flew;
But Obama still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two."
"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Obama and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, the saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Obama wouldn't let that ball go by again.
The sneer is gone from Obama's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and let's that Palin go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Obama's blow.
Across this favored land the autumn sun is shining bright;
The band is playing victory, and many hearts are light,
Everywhere you look folks are laughing, and little children shout;
But there is no joy in DNC-ville, as mighty Obama has struck out.
Great play on one of my favorite baseball stories. Excellent post.
It’s not over till it’s over. Fight on!
BTW, do fix the spelling on Reid’s name. It is ei not ie.
Great parody. One suggestion - how about “Ratville” instead of “DNC-ville”, keeps the meter of the original poem.
Yeah, that works.
Very appropriate today.
I’d forgotten about this. Thanks for the reminder.
It sure is appropriate, isn’t it.
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