The Tale of Jay Simpson

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By the Darn-Poor Rhymer


Neil’s Note: Those of us east of the pond get lip here from those who think we’re against American culture. To cure y’all of the notion, the Darn-Poor Rhymer has written a pome on the subject dearest to Yankee hearts at this time of year: baseball.


A major baseball team did hire

A player young and green:

But when at center field he stood,

He was so speedy, that he could

Catch anything, and clean!


His name was Simpson, and he had

A father English born;

Who in the USA did seek

A woman, and he found a Greek

American. One dawn,


They conjugated, then declined;

They both enjoyed the fun!

And nine months later, there emerged

Along with other matter splurged,

Jay Simpson, new young one.


He grew in body and in mind,

He grew in strength and pace.

He was intelligent and tall,

And fast; but he thought, most of all,

“It’s baseball that’s my place.”


And so, at age eighteen, he was

Contracted to the Eries,

A Canuck team out in the sticks,

Who thought they might be in the mix,

But never the World Series.


As hitter, Jay was accurate,

But didn’t have much clout.

But he met cricket playing friends,

Who gave him help to make amends

By hitting inside out.


The season was beyond belief!

Alert at every play,

Young Jay was always on his game,

“No Errors Jay” became his name;

His team went all the way!


The California Superstars

Were next up for the Eries.

Four games of seven must be won,

And they’d be hard games, every one;

The Superstars weren’t fairies.


It came down to the final game,

And then to the ninth inning;

The scoreless game had been no fun,

But if the Eries scored a run,

They would be title winning!


Strike one, strike two, strike three, and gone!

The lefty pitcher smiled.

Then two on base, and one more out,

Who would come in for the final clout?

Jay Simpson, meek and mild.


The first pitch, he ignored. But it

Was just inside the zone.

The second, he did swing at. But

The pundits said, “Wrong choice! Tut tut!”

Strike two; he felt alone.


The third pitch came in low and fast,

And Jay knew how and why

To hit the off-drive right between

The first and second basemen mean,

To gain his RBI.


But that’s not all. For then a wasp

Stung the right fielder’s stoma,

The center fielder pulled up lame,

And all the people at the game

Said: “That’s an infield homer!”


As young Jay ran from base to base,

He cried with joy, “Home, Eries!”

And “Homer” Simpson he became,

And we still call him by that name,

For he won the World Series.


opher goodwin Added Jul 8, 2018 - 11:41am
Hi Neil - isn't that about a type of rounders?
Nice rhyme.
The Burghal Hidage Added Jul 8, 2018 - 2:08pm
Ian Thorpe Added Jul 8, 2018 - 2:41pm
I could've set that to a Woody Guthrie style guitar accompaniment back in the day. Unfortunately my left hand doesn't work well enough to do smooth chord changes these days.
opher goodwin Added Jul 9, 2018 - 4:28am
Ian - it would sound great in the style of Woody. Get your hand back in gear!
Ian Thorpe Added Jul 9, 2018 - 7:47am
Opher, my hand would be repairable, it's the 30%ish of brain tissue (including the neuro - motor for the left side) drowned by leaked blood 30 years ago that is not so easy to fix.
I've tried using open string tuning and a bottle neck, that's fine for heavy metal power chords but not so god for a finger picking style.
opher goodwin Added Jul 9, 2018 - 7:52am
Ian - sorry to hear you had a problem. Glad you are working round it though. Brains are very plastic though. I can see that it might be difficult to do things requiring such fine motor skills if there is damage there.
I just wish I had the ability to play any type of chords.