| Obama at the bat ! |
| Tuesday, March 17, 2009 |
Obama at the Bat
A Ballad of the DNC, Sung in the Year 2009
(apologies to Ernest Lawrence Thayer)
The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the DNC that day;
The score stood four to two with but one inning more to play.
And then when Kucinich died at first, and Biden did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon of the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast.
They thought if only Barry could but get a whack at that-
We'd put even money now with Obama at the bat.
But Edwards preceded Barry, as did also Lady Hill,
And the former was lulu and the latter was so shrill ;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Barry getting to the bat.
But John let drive a scandal, to the wonderment of all,
And Hillary, the much despis-ed, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Clinton safe at second, and Johnny hugging third.
Then from 69,456,897 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through public housing, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the unions and recoiled upon the flat,
For Barry, mighty Barry, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Barry's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Barry's bearing and a smile on Barry's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Barry at the bat.
Ten million eyes were on him as he moved forward in the lists;
The Obama's stepped to the podium and lightly bumped their fists.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Barry's eye, a sneer curled Barry's lip.
And now recession, war and taxes came hurtling through the air,
And Barry stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy Democrat the task unheeded sped-
"That ain't my style," said Barry. "Strike one," the country said.
From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on the stern and distant shore.
"Bush's Fault! Bush's fault!" shouted some one on the stand;
And it's likely they'd kept on whining had not Barry raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity great Barry's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult, he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the country, and once more the crisis flew;
But Barry earmarked and porked it, and the country said, "Strike Two."
"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "fraud";
But one scornful look from Barry and the audience was awed;
They saw his face grow stern and cold, his anger making him flush,
Barry said unto them "The problems, blame on Rush".
The sneer is gone from Barry's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He places tax and welfare upon the country's plate.
And now investors hold their breath, checking stocks time and again,
And now the Dow is shattered by the force of Barry's pen.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there's no joy Washington - mighty Barry has struck out.
__________________
©2009, Words of wisdom thrown down from Mount Harv. |
posted by Sarge @ 2:01 PM   |
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