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July 24, 2009
Obama at the Bat (a poem)
Obama at the Bat*
The Outlook wasn't brilliant for Leftyville that day:
The health care plan was muddled, with but one press conference more to play.
And then when the job approval numbers died, and personal popularity did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the progressives in 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 Obama could get but a whack at that -
We'd put up even money, now, with Obama at the bat.
Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Obama, mighty Obama, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Obama's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Obama's bearing and a smile on Obama's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No s tranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Obama at the bat.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he smeared his opponents with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he rolled the sleeves up on his shirt.
Then while a cringing reporter lobbed a question from his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Obama's eye, a sneer curled Obama's lip.
For when the stimulus bill came hurtling through the air,
Obama stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Right by the sturdy President the bill unheeded sped-
"That's just my style," said Obama. "Strike one," the people said.
With a smile of Christian charity great Obama's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the congress, and the cap and trade bill flew;
And Obama heartily supported it, and the people said, "Strike two."
"Soci alism" cried the maddened conservatives, and echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Obama and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Obama might get his way again.
The sneer is gone from Obama's lip, he rises to his station;
About to deliver a stirring press conference to a waiting nation.
And now the teleprompter is on, and now he unleashes his volley,
And now the lofty illusions are shattered by the force of his own folly.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Leftyville - mighty Obama has struck out.
*With apologies to Ernest Lawrence Thayer