Sandy

I wrote a lament to Barry Bonds some time ago to Don McLean's beautiful "Vincent". It's been bothering me ever since that I scarred that song with his name.


Here's a little retribution.


Starry
starry night
paint the scorecard with those K's


look out on a summer's day
with eyes that know the
heroes of a child.
Memories compliled.


List'ning to the radio
catch Vin Scully home or road
the colors start to dance across my room.


How can you understand what I'm trying to say to you
how delightful then was Dodger blue
and how effortless he threw.
You could listen
to his fastball pop
and hear his curveball drop.


Number thirty-two
firing balls that seem so mean
fouled straight back into the screen
reflect in all the zeros on the board
A white knight with a sword


A thousand cherished memories
vanquished child anxieties
that stirred up in a crummy broken home

How can you understand what I'm trying to say to you
how wonderful that Koufax threw
and how his greatness grew.
You could listen to the cheering crowd
but then came the growing cloud


and when our team began regress
After his last press conf'rence.
He took his game
to New York's Hall of Fame
But I want to tell you, Sandy
this world will never see someone throw
as beautiful as you.


One-nine-seven-two
Sandy's portrait's in the Hall
other names surround the walls
and children's eyes pass by and can't be met
by mem'ries that I get


Dandy Don and Hershiser
Fernando and Game Over
were wonderful but they cannot compare


And now I think you know
Just what this man became to me
what he meant to me and so many
and why we love to praise Sandy


We need a thrill and we're waiting still

perhaps we never will.

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