Benchly At The Bat
In honor of my summer beer-league softball team's first practice/scrimmage tonight, I'd like to share with you a poem I spoofed last year after CP and I challenged each other to a wiffle ball duel during our lunch break. With apologies to Ernest L. Thayer, I present to you, my faithful LJ readers, Benchly At The Bat:
Then from five throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through Waterbury, and rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon Green Mountain Coffee and recoiled upon the flat,
For Benchly, mighty Benchly, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Benchly’s manner as he stepped into his place,
There was pride in Benchly’s bearing and a smile on Benchly's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he pretended to doff his hat,
No coworker in the crowd could doubt 'twas Benchly at the bat.
At least ten eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
And then five tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher, CP, ground the ball into her hip,
Defiance gleamed in Benchly's eye, a sneer curled Benchly's lip.
And now the little plastic sphere came hurtling with a wiffle sound,
And Benchly swung with all his might, nearly falling to the ground,
And missed the ball completely, for it curved as much as it sped.
"YES!" said CP, "No!" said Benchly, "Strike one," the umpire said.
With a smile of confidence, great Benchly's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult of the coworkers and bade the game go on;
He signaled to CP and once more the wiffle ball flew;
Benchly swung and missed the high heat and the umpire said, "Strike two!"
"Yes!" cried CP again, and the tension slowly grew,
But then she wasted the next two pitches and the count went 2 and 2 .
The coworkers saw Benchly’s face grow stern, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Benchly wouldn't miss that ball again.
The sneer was gone from Benchly's lip, his teeth were clinched in hate;
He pounded with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now CP holds the ball and now she lets it go,
And now the ball is shattered by the force of Benchly’s blow.
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 is no joy for CP-- mighty Benchly hit one out.