Saturday, April 14, 2012

Oh and Three

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 they're serving tea;
But the faithful are a-flutter: the Yanks are Oh and Three

Yes, it's early in the season, and they've barely begun to play;
It's likely by the time this hits your desk, the story will fade away.
Still, it's a nagging feeling that Bombers have in varying degree;
They haven't even played at home. Did I mention? The Yanks are Oh and Three.

After all, a new season dawns, and the last didn't end so well;
And things like this happen, though certainly not for a spell.
And so again the hopes are high, the faithful only want the best;
And every year the fans assume the Yanks will beat the rest.

So even if the start is slow, it's nothing to dismay;
By All Star Break, come mid-July, things will be the proper way.
They'll be a race, no doubt that true, the others won't lay down;
But if you're a Yank, there's no doubt which team will paint the town.

For if you root for New York, it's a pact that you have made;
To feel sorry for the Mariners, the Royals and the Braves.
They may be good this year or that, it matters not for long;
For is there a team so celebrated in story and in song?

As for the Sox, just another club, some years better, some years worse;
Good players for sure, history as well, but there's the Bambino's curse.
All in all, they don't measure up, though many would disagree;
Still that's the thing, you pick your fav, it's one great rivalry.

Sure, there may be bumps, an ankle turned, a hip that doesn't heal;
But in the end, you know they'll win, there is no other deal.
For while the cast may change and turn, there's many who have scored;
There's Roger, Mickey, Joe, the Babe, Lou and Whitey Ford.

There're questions this year as there always are, about this guy or about that;
Will Derek's knee become a thing? What about Alex and his bat?
But it's a long way to October, and when push finally comes to shove;
You know that Mo will bring the heat, the ball straight into the glove.

A side note: no matter how it goes, the Bronxers have a view;
That even if the year is bad, they are still the chosen few.
For even if a Yankee has a day when nothing's looking set;
They say out loud for all to hear, "At least I'm not a Met."

Finally from me, an apology, to that poet long ago;
It was Earnest Lawrence Thayer who wrote how Casey took a blow.
And how the crowd hoped to the end that his swing would be the last;
But Mudville was quiet, for despite the hope, no miracle came to pass.

New York's no Mudville, that's for sure. It's a comparison that's apt;
There's football, B ball, the Garden and more, pucks waiting to be slapped.
So if this seems wrong, I differ with you, there's something here to prove;
And if I stole and tweaked a bit, well, I think Thayer would approve.

Oh! somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light.
By now those Bomber faithful are likely jumping up with glee;
But when they lose, it'll all come back: the Yanks started Oh and Three


Marc Wollin of Bedford knows a few Yankee fans. His column appears regularly in The Record-Review, The Scarsdale Inquirer and online at

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