When out the window
You look all around
At remnants of snow on the ground,
Ballpark fields'll be clear, you know,
But first pitch on a day like that?
When you check the temp,
Just barely forty degrees,
With a wind far from a breeze,
No warm batting gloves made of hemp,
Who needs first pitch on a day like that?
When morning fog sits,
Still hugging ground at noon,
With rain supposed to start soon,
With groundskeepers about to have fits–
Who needs first pitch on a day like that?
When at work or school,
With no radios or TVs,
No holy cows or huckleberries,
Or play-by-play voices so cool,
Who needs first pitch on a day like that?
Actually, thinking hard,
Although its March or maybe
Cold, threatening rain, with no way see,
It's just a flat-out, pure canard,
I don't need first pitch on a day like that.
