The Mets have gotten their leadoff batter on only once this inning.
quote by Ralph Kiner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Mets-moi dessus la mer d'où le soleil se lève
Mets-moi dessus la mer d'où le soleil se lève,
Ou près du bord de l'onde où sa flamme s'éteint ;
Mets-moi au pays froid, où sa chaleur n'atteint,
Ou sur les sablons cuits que son chaud rayon grève ;
Mets-moi en long ennui, mets-moi en joie brève,
En franche liberté, en servage contraint ;
Soit que libre je sois, ou prisonnier rétreint,
En assurance, ou doute, ou en guerre ou en trêve ;
Mets-moi au pied plus bas ou sur les hauts sommets
Des monts plus élevés, ô Méline, et me mets
En une triste nuit ou en gaie lumière ;
Mets-moi dessus le ciel, dessous terre mets-moi,
Je serai toujours même, et ma dernière foi
Se trouvera toujours pareille à la première.
poem by Jean Antoine de Baif
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sounds From The Baseball Field
Batter in the home place,
That was nobly done;
Try and get the first base-
Run!
Run
! RUN!
Ah, there, short stop, will you miss?
Hear the people cheer and hiss,
Hear them yell and shout.
Twinkling legs and flying feet-
(Oh, I wonder who will beat!)
Faster, faster, out!
Umpire, umpire, go along;
That was wrong, sir, that was wrong.
Pitcher pitches, four balls,
'Take your base, my man.'
Toward the second now he crawls-
'Steal it if you can.'
Oh, the ball has gone so high,
Can they catch it on the fly?
Ah, there is no doubt,
He will get his third, I vow-
Pshaw! the ball has got there now,
'Two men out!'
Umpire, umpire, that was wrong;
Go along, sir, go along.
One man on the first base,
Not a single run.
Boys are warming to the race-
Now look out for fun.
Pitcher's arm maybe is tired;
Batter sudden seems inspired,
Grounds the ball to win.
Run there, run there, run your best,
I am screaming with the rest
'Two men in!'
Umpire, umpire, go away;
Dead wrong, dead wrong, sir, I say.
What's the matter now, pray?
Taking breath, that's all;
But the restless people say
'Play ball, play ball.'
One ball, two strikes, two balls-'Foul.'
Umpire calls, and people howl:
'What is he about?'
Run, run, run, run, Run,
Run
, RUN!
Half the inning now is done,
'Three men out!'
Umpire, umpire, go along;
You are always, always wrong.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Seven
From the time his boy could stand
The Dad had brought him on the Seven.
To see the Mets they both would go,
before he'd even learned to throw.
All through his childhood and past his teens.
They'd entrain to their field of dreams.
Their Mets found many ways to lose-
most years they had godawful teams.
So soon it was his time to go.
Children grow (Time flies they say) -
His son now has his place downtown
A few short miles and a world away.
Opening day is magical
once more it found them in the stands
Cheering loud, their voices hoarse,
as their team booked yet another loss.
After the excitement of the game
waiting on the platform for their trains
The two men hugged with obvious affection,
then entrained in opposite directions.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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At The Minor's Field
The Li'l Leaguer's now in uniforms,
And the ball game is ‘bout to begin.
My young hero in position one,
For the Orioles against the Indians;
Kevin stepped on the pitcher's plate,
"Go! Orioles, " the parents cheered.
"Batter's in, " the umpire yelled,
He pitched, the ball went wild.
"Ball, " the umpire called. Again,
He pitched to the batter's shin.
Hit by pitch, the batter walks on base,
Still at first when the catcher missed.
"Ball, " 2 and 0, the umpire signed,
And some parents began to whine.
Bases are loaded but all walks,
And their slugger is up to bat.
Pitch by pitch, she tried to hit,
A foul, a tip, the third, she missed.
With one out on the score board,
The outfielders are getting bored.
The next batter, my neighbor's son,
He tried the same as hard as he can,
Swing after swing, he lost his chance;
The ball was caught, two out at once.
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Given Batter Whipped
We all have our styles.
Tastes,
And approaches to life.
To rate them narrowly,
For the purposes to suit...
Choices of critics on pursuit,
To dilute...
The wide range of changing preferences,
Only scatters the patter.
Leaving it ultimately not to matter.
Eat it up,
Or give it up...
Or leave it alone.
A given batter whipped,
Has its own magic!
Eat it up,
Or give it up...
Or leave it alone.
A given batter whipped,
Has its own magic!
We all have our styles.
Tastes,
And approaches to life...
To appreciate or eliminate.
And...
A given batter whipped,
Has its own magic!
Eat it up,
Or give it up...
Or leave it alone.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mars Landing Party
Embrasse - moi, mets ton doigt dan mon cul,
Embrasse - moi, mets ton doigt dan mon cul,
Une prsence ambige,
Une prsence inconnue,
Jusqua ce que jen peux plus,
Embrasse - moi, mets ton doigt dan mon cul,
Embrasse - moi, mets ton doigt dan mon cul,
Une prsence ambige,
Une prsence inconnue,
Jusqua ce que jen peux plus,
Embrasse - moi, mets ton doigt dan mon cul,
Embrasse - moi, mets ton doigt dan mon cul,
Une prsence ambige,
Une prsence inconnue,
Jusqua ce que jen peux plus,
Translation
Kiss me, put your finger up my arse,
Kiss me, put your finger up my arse,
An ambiguous presence,
An unknown presence,
Until I cant take it anymore,
Kiss me, put your finger up my arse,
Kiss me, put your finger up my arse,
An ambiguous presence,
An unknown presence,
Until I cant take it anymore,
Kiss me, put your finger up my arse,
Kiss me, put your finger up my arse,
An ambiguous presence,
An unknown presence,
Until I cant take it anymore,
song performed by by Placebo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It's never over. You don't want to be in the position to be down four runs in the ninth inning, but it's not over until the last out.
quote by Derek Jeter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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But I'm not going to walk Barry Bonds, like some teams do, in the first inning with nobody on.
quote by Frank Robinson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If the Mets can win the World Series, the United States can get out of Vietnam.
quote by Tom Seaver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mets have shown me more ways to lose than I even knew existed.
quote by Casey Stengel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Life's like a ball game. You gotta take a swing at whatever comes along before you wake up and find out it's the ninth inning.
quote by Martin Goldsmith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mother! Oh Mother
Mother! oh mother!
Where are your children?
Where have they been?
Where have they lost?
Mother! oh mother
Am on you
Yet can't see you
Is you don't like me
Or you don't like us
Mother! your children
Some on edges
Many at peaks
Why are all not equal
Are all not your children?
Maa I understand you
You have lost your children
You are been polluted all over
Maa my mother
Please batter your creation
Batter and make it new
This is a humble request
From one of your children.
poem by Abhimanyu Kumar.s
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The reason the Mets have played so well at Shea this year is they have the best home record in baseball.
quote by Ralph Kiner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I don't believe a manager ever won a pennant. Casey Stengel won all those pennants with the Yankees. How many did he win with the Boston Braves and Mets?
quote by Sparky Anderson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I said to myself I've got to go up there and do it because the New York Mets keep winning every day. The game was on the line and I wanted to go out there and come through for my team. That win tonight means a lot for us.
quote by Sammy Sosa
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Meaningful games
The air of September has turned crisp and clean,
with a hint of past autumns remembered,
as I take the field with the rest of the team
to battle the other contender.
Just like a knuckleball released to the plate
Our season has seemed to meander
In May we seemed sure of a World Series date-
But now the blogs call us pretenders.
The lead we enjoyed in June and July
has steadily melted away.
bad luck and the heat had led to defeats
while our foes seem to gain every day.
The faces around me are a mix old and new.
Some friends have been traded away-
or waived on the wire, which was needed, no doubt.
I just hope these new call ups can play.
But there is no room for self pity or doubt
While our chance at the playoffs remains
There are so many players whose dreams are long dead
while we still play meaningful games.
This poem may be about the 2008 New York Mets. Certainly the title was inspired by a statement made by Mets owner, Fred Wilpon. The speaker may be David Wright. It is also possible that this poem is using the baseball season as an extended metaphor.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Original Wrapper
I was sittin home on the west end
Watchin cable tv with a female friend
We were watchin the news, the worlds in a mess
The poor and the hungry, a world in distress
Herpes, aids, the middle east at full throttle
Better check that sausage, before you put it in the waffle
And while youre at it, check whats in the batter
Make sure that candys in the original wrapper
Hey, pitcher, better check that batter
Make sure that candys in the original wrapper
Reagan says abortions murder
While hes looking at cardinal oconnor
Look at jerry falwell louis farrakhan
Both talk religion and the brotherhood of man
They both sound like they belong in teheran
Watch out, theyre goin full throttle
Better check that sausage, before you stick it in the waffle
And while youre at it better check, whats in the batter
Make sure that candys in the original wrapper
Hey, pitcher, better check that batter
Make sure that candys in the original wrapper
White against white, black against jew
It seems like its 1942
The baby sits in front of mtv
Watching violent fantasies
While dad guzzles beer with his favorite sport
Only to find his heroes are all coked up
Classic, original, the same old story
The politics of hate in a new surrounding
Hate if its good and hate if its bad
And if this all dont make you mad
Ill keep yours and Ill keep mine
Nothing sacred and nothing divine
Father, bless me, were at full throttle
Better check that sausage, before you put it in the waffle
And while youre at it better check that batter
Make sure the candys in the original wrapper
Hey, pitcher, better check that batter
Make sure that candys in the original wrapper, hey, hey
I was born in the united states
And I grew up hard but I grew up straight
I saw a lack of morals and a lack of concern
A feeling that theres nowhere to turn
Yippies, hippies and upwardly mobile yuppies
Dont treat me like Im some dumb lackey
cause the murderer lives while the victims die
Id much rather see it an eye for an eye
A heart for a heart, a brain for a brain
And if this all makes you feel a little insane
Kick up your heels, turn the music up loud
Pick up your guitar and look out at the crowd, and say, -
- dont mean to come on sanctimonious
But lifes got me nervous and little pugnacious
Lugubrious so I give a salutation
And rock on out to beat really stupid
Ohh, poop, ah, doo and how do you do
Hip hop gonna bop till I drop.
Watch out world, comin at you full throttle
Better check that sausage, before you put it in the waffle
And while youre at it better check that batter
Make sure the candys in the original wrapper
Hey, hey, pitcher, better check that batter
Make sure the candys in the original wrapper
Hey, pitcher, better check that batter
Make sure the candys in the original wrapper, hey, hey, hey
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Meaningful Games 2
Meaningful games
The air of September has turned crisp and clean,
with a hint of past autumns remembered,
as I take the field with the rest of the team
to battle the other contender.
Just like a knuckleball released to the plate
Our season has seemed to meander
In May we seemed sure of a World Series date-
But now the blogs call us pretenders.
The lead we enjoyed in June and July
has steadily melted away.
bad luck and the heat had led to defeats
while our foes seem to gain every day.
The faces around me are a mix old and new.
Some friends have been traded away-
or waived on the wire, which was needed, no doubt.
I just hope these new call ups can play.
But there is no room for self pity or doubt
While our chance at the playoffs remains
There are so many players whose dreams are long dead
while we still play meaningful games.
This poem may be about the 2008 New York Mets. Certainly the title was inspired by a statement made by Mets owner, Fred Wilpon. The speaker may be David Wright. It is also possible that this poem is using the baseball season as an extended metaphor.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Is it in the best interest of baseball to sell beer in the ninth inning? Probably not. The rule has got to be more clearly defined. And then some process should be set up where the judge is not also the appeals judge.
quote by George Steinbrenner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Taking Dad to a Game
The Polo Grounds, when the Field’s first seen
are a most magical shade of green.
Hand in hand, me and my Dad
head for our seats in the right field stands.
It’s the Cincinnati Reds in town
to play the New York Mets.
There’s a double header scheduled,
How much better could it get?
Cincinnati took the first game
by a score of three to nil.
My hot dog was delicious
Dad had a beer to swill.
The nightcap was a wild affair
The Mets won thirteen- twelve.
You could look it up, as Casey said,
if you should care to delve.
We rode the subway home that night
side by side, me and my Dad.
We reminisced about the game
Like the most knowledgeable fans
The Q44 from Flushing took us
up Queensboro Hill, ,
past Carvel and Booth Memorial,
I remember it well still.
My father turned to look at me
as five decades creased my brow.
Making us the self same age
What he was then, so I am now.
Thirty years, about, its been
Since last I saw my Dad.
The dead don't get to baseball games,
Which I think is rather sad.
They can't enjoy a summer night
on the wrong side of the grass.
And an ice cold beer is greatly missed-
They can't pour themselves a glass
In memory, we still can walk
With those who came before.
So I took my Dad to a baseball game
What was I waiting for?
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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