“Right Off the Bat '04”
© Karen Benedetto (ASCAP)
(Words & Music)
All Rights Reserved. Not for Duplication Without Permission.
They met one Summer evening at the busy beer concession.
The line was long, but both had such a thirst.
She wondered how to break the ice and make a good impression.
He wondered if Nomar was still on first.
She said, “You come here often?”, then regretted that she’d spoken,
And wished that she had just gone for some franks.
For when he turned around, her heart instantly was broken.
For his cap said Boston Red Sox, hers, the Yanks.
Beware the signs prophetic, even if they’re on a hat
For a union such as this was doomed RIGHT OFF THE BAT.
His smile was warm and friendly, and he didn’t seem too bothered
That they worshipped rival factions, but she knew
That there simply was no way her future children could be fathered
By a man who wasn’t wearing Yankee blue.
The line began to move, he introduced himself politely.
She looked into his eyes, he was a fox!
She thought, well this is just the Universe’s way to spite me
For all my nasty curses on the Sox.
Beware the signs prophetic, even if they’re on a hat
For a union such as this was doomed RIGHT OFF THE BAT.
They left the game together, and they started into dating.
They seemed to hit it off, a real home run.
And for a little while she had stopped her Sox berating,
And their silly rivalry was kind of fun.
But came the time for playoffs, and the teams were ‘bout dead even.
The race was to the finish. Who would win?
The Yankees took the quick lead and she started to believin’
That this could be their year, to his chagrin.
Games one through three were over, and the boys in blue were flying.
It was back to Fenway Park for number four.
Games four through six were Boston’s, and now there was no denying
That the Sox were on a roll like ne’er before.
They were there to watch game seven in the Bronx that fateful evening.
They had weathered many storms all season long.
‘Til the bottom of the ninth, two outs, the stadium was grieving.
And suddenly her life just seemed all wrong…
Beware the signs prophetic, even if they’re on a hat
For a union such as this was doomed RIGHT OFF THE BAT.
She left to use the rest room, as the pitcher was up winding,
Then she headed for the exit all alone.
The silence told the story of the pain that was so blinding,
Of the three-to-nothing lead the Yanks had blown.
She never turned around to see if he was coming after,
But on the subway platform she could hear
What surely must have been the sound of her ex-boyfriend’s laughter
And the tune of his farewell—a big Bronx cheer…
Now the moral of this story,
And it really is a shame—
No matter how you play it
Love is not, no it’s not, a perfect game!
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