At the end of each summer day,
while laying there in my bed,
I placed a small transistor radio
under the pillow near my head.
Each night that the Reds did play
I listened to the baseball game;
Joe Nuxhall did the play-by-play -
youngest player ever, adding to his fame.
They were the Big Red Machine;
often in first place;
Pete Rose knocking out another hit;
Dave Concepcion fielding with grace.
Ken Griffey - the father -
roaming the outfield grass;
George Foster hitting home runs;
Joe Morgan sprinting in a dash.
Tony Perez, so consistent;
Cesar Geronimo had the perfect name;
Johnny Bench squatted behind home plate,
catching another game.
Through my little transistor radio,
Marty Brennaman and Joe Nuxhall brought it all to life,
as the sun faded away to darkness
on those hot Ohio summer nights.
And at the end of every night,
Joe Nuxhall would sign off all alone,
saying, "This is the old lefthander rounding third,
and heading his way on home. "
It has been home to baseball’s New York Mets.
For a time, it also housed football’s New York Jets.
This is a place practically any New Yorker knows.
It was part of the World’s Fair in Flushing Meadows.
This has been a spawning ground of sports history and more.
It first opened its doors in 1964.
Look out in centerfield, and new construction you will see.
What is there is a rising new sports facility.
Citi Field, soon to be home for the Mets will look fine.
New Yorkers will see games there starting in 2009.
After 2008, Shea Stadium will be history.
However, it will stand in any Mets fan’s memory.
The lights beating down on our dream.
The crowd lets out a roaring scream.
This is our life, not just a game.
Here is where we get our fame.
All of us are in our teens,
but we played like well-oiled machines.
All of us were mediocre, but together we were great.
After eight years together, our final record was 112 and 8.
Even though we only lost eight,
two of those losses were at state.
We never took home a championship ring,
but we did come home with something.
We walked off the field with our heads held high,
and we came home with our pride.
We looked around the room and didn't see one another.
We looked around and saw people we would forever call our brother.
We hung up our pads for the last time as a team.
We walked away with memories better than a dream.
To us it was about more than just a football game.
It was about who we were and the men we became.
In Montreal, you had the “Expos” name,
until the home attendance became lame.
The best athletes that were brought to play,
found spots on other teams and went away.
The squads you fielded for your fans to see,
fell into the quagmire of mediocrity.
In short time, you were losing money.
To continue operations, you could not stay.
You had to find another home city to play.
In the nation’s capital you would be
where two teams left in the same century.
For over thirty years, they had no team.
To bring baseball back was their biggest dream.
They welcomed with open arms when you came.
The “Washington Nationals” would be your new name.
You performed well in your first season there.
It was like being in fresh new air.
You will be playing your games amidst loud cheers.
Good luck to you in the upcoming years.
“Honey, did you buy the chips?” No baby, I’ll get that later"
Are you sure you won’t forget?” “Naw”
“I’ll run by the store” on my way home from the gym
“What are you looking for?” I ask. “My keys”. He says
“Where did you leave them?” I ask. Right there” Pointing, He says
"No", I shake my head as I point towards the top of the fridge,
Where he left the keys
A quick exchange of a kiss and he's running out the door
"See you later babe.. I’m running late"
“Yeah, be home early to light the grill” I yell
Don’t worry, I will”. Those are the last words he says
It’s Monday Night Football everyone’s prep for the game.
The beer is chilled, the beef set to grill
Soon the guys will be over as it’ is our turn to host
Only ten minutes to game time, when loud laughter erupts
As seven men carrying beer kegs burst through the door
After the greetings and teasing and jostling subside
Every seat occupied and one bellows out, “Where're the chips?”
Each one looks at the other. Then they all look at me!
“Hey, don’t look at me!” I say. I exit and return, bringing bowls laden with chips…
He looks up at me with that smile and all I see, is the excited little boy in him
Time to head out to Turner Field
I will surley not yield
Everyone knows my team, the braves
Even the ones in caves
To watch McCain hit a homer
And watch Chipper field a grounder
Nothing feels as such
Not a thing can get me going more than a diving catch
The seventh inning stretch
The only break we need, we are ready for a home run catch
The ninth inning is such torment
Waiting to find out which team is dominant
We cheer for the home team to win
If they lose it is like a sin
Can't wait untill the next game
And I know it will be great just the same