O, the Games that You’ll Play! (Apologies to Dr. Seuss)

(For Brett Gardner)

Congratulations, rookie!
You made the team today!
Your times will go fast,
O, the games that you’ll play!
As the years fly away…

You’ll enter that box with both hands trembling hard,

And maybe, ka-boom, you’ll connect and go yard!

You might make a great catch and win lasting acclaim!
Or perhaps drop the fly that will cost us the game.

You will slide into third, dive straight into the stands!
Take a hit for the team (for the cheers of your fans!)

You’ll sing with the Anthem, “… the land of the free…!”
Then go out against Boston and dodge thrown debris.

You’ll give it your best, with no "ifs" "ands" or "buts!"
Or go down in the books as the next Mickey Klutts.

You might bat .305 'till the day you retire!
Yet have fanned enough times to put out a great fire!

You drive a big Hummer, you’ll follow the trends!
And if you are wise, you will treasure close friends.

You’ll make lots of money, live carefree and loose,
You might hear somebody say, “Hey, want some juice?”
And I pray that you ask yourself, “Would Dr. Seuss?”

You’ll walk tall in Cleveland, a king on both coasts!
Every bar that you enter, they'll toast you with toasts!

You’ll get all the women, hot models aglow!
They’ll do things to you that your wife must not know.

You'll stand taller than others, wherever you are,
And if lucky, your children will think you a star.

You’ll gripe that your agent's a do-nothing guy.
You’ll bark things to writers, then claim that they lie.

You will wake up one day with an unknown tattoo.
You will say to your dad, "I did all this for you!"

Some days you will say that your swing isn’t there.
Some days you will think that you don’t even care!
You’ll howl and you’ll argue that umps are not fair!
That you’d rather just quit! Yes, you’ll say it, I swear!
But come the next morning, the field will be there...

You’ll rule in the papers! On TV! The web!
And then one day you’ll notice the fan tide at ebb.

You’ll scrape for a bench slot, sprint every last race,
And watch as some rookie steps into your place.

O, the games you will play as you grow to a man!
As a son, as a father, a player, a fan!
As a rookie, an elder, so vibrant, so gray!
O, the plays you will make!
O, the games you will play!

You’ll sign cards at conventions, give gossip and views.
And some words you will say will be spoken by booze.

In long speeches you’ll retell magnificent stories,
Recounting achievements and personal glories.

And one day you’ll say to your child in your home,
All the things I have said in this all-too-short poem...

For you only live once, as I’m saying today,
O, the plays you will make!
O, the games you will play!