THE SOUTHPAW

A humorous poem about a wild baseball pitcher

THE SOUTHPAW

By R. A. Merritt

This kid has a helluva arm the coach he told the scout

And if we could get him to get it over the plate

He'd strike all the batters out

 He can throw it really fast over a hundred and twenty per

You might not believe what I'm saying to you but that's the truth dear sir

He doesn't have a curve ball, no slider, or a change up

And if you're standing at the plate you better be wearing a cup

That's our biggest problem with him this kid is really wild

And all those who have to face him turn into a little child

And if one comes whistling in and goes anywhere near their head

They start swinging at anything facing him they dread

Now the scout he was a cynic the story was always the same

We gotta a pitcher you should see he'll make to the Hall of Fame

And so the southpaw took the mound and started to loosen up a bit

And then he saw the batter in the box and this kid was biting his lip

 

Why is that he wondered, why does he look this way

Why is he hesitant to take his cuts and put the ball in play

And then the scout he found out why and came to believe 

What the coach had said

Cause the southpaw threw one wild and by god knocked off his head

Yes indeed his head came off, right there at the plate

I know it's hard to believe but that's the truth for goodness sake

And so the ump he followed it as it rolled all over the ground

The stadium stood deadly silent you couldn't hear a sound

And finally at last the head stop rolling 

And the ump picked it up you know

And so held it there aloft he really was a pro

He held it there eye to eye looking it in the face

And shouted aloud you been walked now batter take your base