More rapid than heaters his coursers they came,
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
"Now, Wegner! now, Porter! now, Tichenor and Carlson!
On, Márquez! on, Diaz! on, Miller and Hudson!
To the back of the dish, make a borderline call!
Now, dash away, dash away, dash away all!"
To enforce pace of play, he just then gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle;
But I heard him exclaim, ere he made a strike call:
"It is Opening Day, so now let us play ball!"
When out on the field there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the dugout I flew like a hare,
Tore out from the clubhouse and shot up the stair.
The moon, on the breast of the freshly-trimmed lawn,
Gave a lustre of midday to this here pre-dawn;
When what appeared I just couldn't conceif:
'Twas a miniature ump and eight tiny crew chiefs.
With a little old driver, so far-from-the-best
I knew in a moment it must be Joe West.
'Twas the night before baseball, when all through the land
Not a creature was banging a single trashcan;
The stirrups were hung by the dugout with care,
In hopes that ol' Cowboy Joe soon would be there;
The mascots were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of antics danced through their big heads;
And Manfred in his kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long summer's nap,—
More rapid than heaters his coursers they came,
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
"Now, Wegner! now, Porter! now, Tichenor and Carlson!
On, Márquez! on, Diaz! on, Miller and Hudson!
To the back of the dish, make a borderline call!
Now, dash away, dash away, dash away all!"
To enforce pace of play, he just then gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle;
But I heard him exclaim, ere he made a strike call:
"It is Opening Day, so now let us play ball!"
When out on the field there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the dugout I flew like a hare,
Tore out from the clubhouse and shot up the stair.
The moon, on the breast of the freshly-trimmed lawn,
Gave a lustre of midday to this here pre-dawn;
When what appeared I just couldn't conceif:
'Twas a miniature ump and eight tiny crew chiefs.
With a little old driver, so far-from-the-best
I knew in a moment it must be Joe West.
'Twas the night before baseball, when all through the land
Not a creature was banging a single trashcan;
The stirrups were hung by the dugout with care,
In hopes that ol' Cowboy Joe soon would be there;
The mascots were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of antics danced through their big heads;
And Manfred in his kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long summer's nap,—
last stab: https://youtu.be/Jwtyn-L-2gQ
mods asleep post the Mariners Orson Welles commercial
“While some reports indicated Mizuhara graduated from UC Riverside, a spokesperson from the university told NBCLA there are no records of him attending the school.”
he lied about going to college
Join the unofficial official Shrike Club Tournament Challenge pools!
(the password, if you're asked for it, is "birdwbesite", no quotation marks)
the following account will contain unironic enthusiasm for things the person posting it likes. these things include, but are not limited to: terrible puns, baseball, video games, board games, baseball video games and board games, Homestuck, fan works, Homestuck fan works, and other items
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