Lyrics for a quarterfinals fable.
October 26, 2019 by Patrick Stegemoeller in Other with 0 comments
The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Rhino line that day;
New York stood favored nine to two but with one point more to play.
And then when Little covered Smith, and Kocher did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought if only Leo could but get a cut at that—
We’d put up even money now with Leo at the bat.
But Lindsley guarded Leo, quick and clever as a snake,
With cold intent and malice to punish but some small mistake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Leo’s getting one last crack
But Franer got free upline, to the wonderment of all,
And Hayes, the much exhausted, stutter stepped and did not fall;
And when the dust had lifted, and all saw what had occurred,
There was Hayes holding up the disc, the stall count rising to a third.
Then from a hundred throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the fields complex, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the socials, it recoiled ‘pon the feed,
For Leo, mighty Leo, swept forth with greatest speed.
There was ease in Leo’s manner as he raced on at his pace;
There was pride in Leo’s bearing and a smile on Leo’s face.
All his moves were to be winners, as they had been all game long,
The crowd chanted mighty Leo, for his name was their song.
And now the plastic-made disc came hurtling through the air,
And Leo raised his hands up in solemn grandeur there.
Close by Lindsley’s cover, Leo unheeded sped—
“There’s no help defense here,” said Leo. “Damn right,” the viewers said.
The game was Leo’s masterpiece, a stunning work of art;
Goals by air and ground and soul brought from his pounding heart.
And now the disc comes flying fast, at an oddly shifting height,
But Leo cannot fail at this, at the dying of last light.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
Steve Dunn is reading names out, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere they are throwing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Portland—mighty Leo has struck out.