Jack is our man for this game tonight,
with his fastball hard, that’s in and tight.
His lucky cap, all stained with sweat,
with white circles of salt, gleaming white.

Now Jacks a strapping lad, about six-eight,
with rippling muscles lake a layered cake.
But of all the might that brings tonight,
it’s that fastball boys, that’s in and tight.

So Jack warms up in the pen tonight,
under the stars and stadium lights.
He stretches long, and bends at the waist,
then rubs his back, and rubs his face.
The rosin bag he juggles must,
then sends it the ground in a puff of dust.

His spike digs in to the clay shaped hill,
as scrapes and frowns with an ironclad will.
But it’s not that frown upon his face,
that batters fear in the place.
It’s that fastball boys, so hard and in,
it’s that fastball boys that can shave the chin.

After stretching out the muscles so,
and getting into his form we know,
he takes his proper place thereon,
in the center of the diamond where he belongs.

But wait, what comes here across the outfield center,
a small white figure, with such vim and vigor.
With flowing gown and flowers in hand,
such a pretty young lady who looks so grand.

We all standup on the dugout steps,
and watch this lady with so much pep,
walk straight to Jack, with hands on hips,
and an angry Irish brogue upon her lips!

So she says,
“ Tis it my appearance that startles you so, on this
lovely night with the stars all aglow?”
“ Speak up my Jack, sure you have a thought,
in that head of yours that tis like a rock”
“For tonight I waited with Father O’Brien,
with me dear sisters and mother sadly crying!”

“Our wedding Jack, you numskull clog,
or have you forgotten, with your head in a fog!”

The young bride took the ball from Jack that night,
nether curve ball or fastball, in and tight,
would be pitched by Jack under the starts so bright.
If fact, it’d be lucky if Jack survived the night!

Years have passed since I saw Jack,
but my luck did change just a while back.
There in a playground sat Jack and his bride,
three daughters and two boys, for a total of five.
A few more pounds Jack carried it seemed,
along with the smile of a proud father that beamed.

Now my story is not about Jack,
nor is it about baseball or the memories that come back.
It’s about the beautiful Irish Lasses that you should never let wait,
especially the ones that go by the named of Kate.

Coach B