Now George he don’t like losing, so you best be on your guard

’Cause if you don’t hit .300, life will never be so hard

And if you don’t make the playoffs and win a couple rounds

The fans will cuss and swear at you and run you out of town

 

Why did you go, Johnny Damon? Why did you take the cash and run?

Do you think in New York City you’ll be having this much fun?

You’re out of sight and out of mind. Don’t think that you’ll be missed

We don’t need you anymore ’cause we’ve got Coco Crisp

​

​

WEEKEND WARRIOR

Ice it down, stretch it out, wrap it up, gotta get ready. I’m a weekend warrior
One more game, one more day, one more swing and one more play

For the weekend warrior

I don’t just play because I look so good in polyester

I do it ’cause it makes me feel alive
After working all week long, I tend to get a little stressed
But when I step out on that field, I feel all right

My wife says quit, my kids ask why, the coach says sit

But I can’t lie, I’m a weekend warrior
It could be my last, never know, one game down and one to go for the weekend warrior

At my age, I should be playing golf or sleeping late
But I like to sweat and get dirty. I like to step up to the plate

Aches and pains, muscle tears, limping up and down the stairs. I’m a weekend warrior
On Monday morn, I can’t run or throw

But six more days I’ll be ready to go. I’m a weekend warrior

​

​

MENDOZA LINE

I’m mired in this awful slump. I need some luck to clear the hump

Or I’ll be riding buses any day

I need a hit so bad that I could cry, the worse I do, the harder I try

That 90 feet looks like a mile away

 

I’ll take a bloop, a flare, a 16-hopper, a lucky bounce, a Baltimore chopper

Just get me ’cross that ol’ Mendoza Line

Of course, I’d prefer a frozen rope but a swinging bunt would give me hope

I gotta cross that ol’ Mendoza Line

Mendoza Line, Mendoza Line, just get me ’cross that ol’ Mendoza Line

Mendoza Line, Mendoza Line. I gotta cross that ol’ Mendoza Line

 

Now, Mario Mendoza, for whom this line is named

Was an actual big-leaguer for 686 games

He played short and second, a little third, had quite a glove or so I’ve heard

Which was essential ’cause he barely hit his weight

 

Though known for his infield utility, he set the benchmark for futility

Flirting with .200 all the time. In ’79, he tied an all-time mark

For the most games played in a big league park

With an average below the Mendoza Line

 

He made the playoffs only once and here’s his stats

Three games played and one hit in five total at-bats

Do the math correctly and you will surely find

He’s right smack dab on that Mendoza Line

​

So if you’re struggling on the field or anywhere in life

Think of that brave soul from south of the border

He plugged and scrapped his whole life through Only to be linked to ineptitude

He’s a true immortal of a different order

​

​

IT'S THE END OF THE CURSE AND WE KNOW IT

Parody of It's The End of The World As We Know It (and I Feel Fine) by R.E.M. 

Original words and music by Berry Buck/Mills/Stipe

New lyrics by Howie Newman

 

That’s great, it starts with a two-out walk

Then a steal off New York’s ace. Roberts stood at second base

Sox were down three to none, everybody said they’re done

Mueller up the middle, in came the tying run

 

Boston pen wouldn’t bend, Yanks never scored again

No panic, Leskanic, Fenway’s getting really manic

Papi took a big hack, the ball went way back, into the night

 

In a New York minute, Sox are back in it, breathing down their necks

14th inning, more winning, Yanks are spinning, Ortiz did it one more time

Next night, Yanks are tight, bloody sock, such a shock

Big Schill shutdown, Bellhorn downtown

All tied, what a ride, keep it going one more night

A-Rod tried slapping but the umps weren’t napping

And we’re feeling pretty psyched

 

It’s the end of the curse and we know it

It’s the end of the curse and we know it

It’s the end of the curse and we know it. And I feel fine

 

Everything on the line, Damon 3 for 29

Wham bam, grand slam, Sox cruise, sea of boos

Brown’s done after one, na na hey hey

Boston bats just wouldn’t go away-hey

 

Varitek, Nixon, Wakefield, Timlin, Pokey Reese, Cabrera, Embree and Millar

Bronson Arroyo, Ramirez and Pedro, never gave it up, got ’em where they are

Might good, mighty fine, it was the greatest comeback of all time

                                                                      

Midwest Big Dance, Cards had no chance, four straight in ’04

Foulke came and shut the door. Derek Lowe three and oh

Manny took the trophy home, no more screamin’ 1918

The bats were a-blazing, the pitching was amazing. What else can you say?

​

​

DOUG MIENTKIEWICZ

Doug Mientkiewicz, he’s my favorite player

Doug Mientkiewicz, He’s the man, he’s the man
Doug Mientkiewicz, I just love to say it

Doug Mientkiewicz, e’s the man, he’s the man

When he was a Twin, it didn’t mean a thing

Then he joined the Sox and Doug Mientkiewicz really rocked
 
He’s kind to his mother and a former Gold Glover
Doug may not make the Hall of Fame But he’s got 12 letters in his name

Doug Mientkiewicz, I can’t even spell it

Doug Mientkiewicz, but I sure do like to yell it
Doug Mientkiewicz, he’s my favorite player

Doug Mientkiewicz, he’s the man, he’s the man

M-I-E-N, T-K-I-E, W-I-C-Z (I think that’s right)

 

Doug Mientkiewicz, he’s my favorite player

Doug Mientkiewicz, He just took that ball and ran
Doug Mientkiewicz, I just love to say it

Doug Mientkiewicz, He’s the man, he’s the man 

​

​

BLASTED IN THE BLEACHERS

Walkin’ down to Jersey Street on a scorching summer day
Heading off to Fenway Park, that’s where the Red Sox play
The clock in Kenmore Square says almost 2
We’re gonna sit way out in center field and this is what we’ll do 

Let’s go get blasted in the bleachers, act insane
The sun, some beer and all those people, We can even watch the game
I don’t need no runs or hits, just a six pack of Schlitz
Win or lose, we’ll feel the same. It’s only a game

The stands are filling up and baby so am I

The batter hits a grounder but I’m flying high
There’s a double play, a stolen base, a fastball up and in

And the batter he breaks his bat. I’ll drink to that

Don’t say we ain’t good fans, we even clean up our cans
When the seventh-inning stretch comes, we try to stand up
We’re always nice and friendly and never throw our cups 

The bases are loaded and so am I

There’s a screamin’ line drive and I can hear it cry
There’s a close play out at third, the coach jumps up and down

And yells like a spoiled brat. I’ll drink to that