(Gary’s rendition commemorating the Fat Chance victory over Grouchy’s)
by Gary Branin
Cocky, loud, mean and nasty,
Rowdy, bad and rude.
Their nickname “Grouchies” only fit
If in their better mood.
They came to play, they came to win,
Their fans they came to cheer.
We showed up with our cooler cups
And ice chests full of beer.
They had no fear and no doubt
That with us the field they’d wipe.
lt seemed our biggest hits that night
Were off of Moglie’s pipe.
In the sixth, with two runners on
No outs, we were sure to score.
But 1,2,3 they called them out
Those batters 2, 3, and 4.
So in the seventh inning,
Our chances looked anything but FAT.
With one man on, two men out
And the scrubbers up to bat.
Feeling that they had it won,
They commenced to riot.
After all, we needed four to win
And at least three to tie it.
One batter later a man on third,
And one on first somehow.
Gorby called for a third base coach,
And yelled “let’s win this now!”
The pitcher looked to first,
Rolled his eyes, and said, “You’re dreamin’”
But it was his worst nightmare,
When Scott sent his pitch a screamin’.
As two runners crossed the plate,
Our wounds were quickly healin’
As they‘d just gotten to the ball,
And Scott was really wheelin’.
Now we were going nuts,
We jumped for joy, we couldn’t hide it.
We only needed one to win,
As Scott’s homerun had tied it.
Some said we’ve not the talent,
Some said we’ve not the brain.
One thing we lacked for sure that night,
Was a brakeman on that train.