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Open Gameday Thread, 5/6

`Twas the night before Lincecum, and all through Mays Field
Not a creature was stirring, not even Lou Seal
The pitcher's mound dirt was packed down with care
In preparation for our hero, who would soon be there

The fans were at home, all snug in their beds,
While visions of perfect games danced in their heads
And Lefty with his wit, and Steve S. with his stats
Had just settled down for a nervous spring nap

Then the next night, arose such a clatter
ESPN angled their cameras to see what was the matter
The crowd was gathering down at Third and King
Anticipating the heat our savior would bring

The sun kept fog away for the Sunday night show
And gave the luster of early evening for the field below
When what to our wondering eyes should appear?
But one miniature pitcher, and eight of his peers

With an overpowering fastball, so lively and quick
He then flashed a curveball that would make Phillies sick.
Like a wee Nolan Ryan, his pitches they came
And as he warmed up, he called them by name;

"Now four-seamer, now two-seamer, now changeup, now curve!
On slider, on palmball, on split-finger and slurve!
To the catcher's mitt; to sixty feet, six inches away!
You'll miss those bats, and in the rotation I'll stay!"

As he got loose before a national crowd
The pops from the catcher's mitt grew ever more loud
So to the corners of the strike zone, his pitches they flew
With an arsenal of pitches, St. Timothy threw.

And then, with an announcement, Rollins came up to bat
Adjusting his wristbands, he gave his cleats a pat.
As I grabbed my remote and adjusted my sound,
Lincecum's first-ever pitch was now plateward bound

He was dressed in French vanilla, and his shoes colored black
He had a huge "55" right on his back
An entire franchise perched on his right shoulder
As the once warm night grew ever colder

His eyes - how they focused! His hat bill, so bent!
His delivery was perfect; Bad hitters repent!
His right arm went back and stretched like a bow
And his beard would have been badass, if a beard he could grow

He pumped two by Rollins, and then dropped the hammer
Rollins, caught looking, left with a stammer
Chase Utley ended the inning, waving at a fastball superb
You deserve to be struck out, when your first name's a verb

Tim looked out of place; he looked like he was twelve
And the Phillies laughed when they saw him, in spite of themselves
But Tim spoke not a word, and went straight to his work
And mixed curves up with heaters, whiffing all with a smirk

And after the 27th strikeout, he lifted his cap,
Gave a wink and a nod, acknowledged the cheers and the claps
And I heard him exclaim, as he jogged out of sight
"I won this series right now, but I'll win a World Series some night!"