It would just be a perfect shame
If I were to throw a perfect game.
27 up; 27 down . . .
I’d suffocate in such renown.
I would go down in history
With fingers that were blistery
From tossing all those knuckleballs
And watching as each batter falls
Prey to pitches that would flutter by,
As hitters swung at butterflies
And flailed and failed every inning.
Why, that would be distracting winning!
For all my fielders would a tingle
Feel: each pitch could be a single.
Let’s say that I throw perfection . . .
Would not the fans seek a collection
Of perfect games to grow with each
Appearance that I make? They would beseech
Me to do what I’d done before.
“Be perfect,” they fiercely would implore – – –
And so I know that should I throw
A perfect game, my peace would go.
I think for me the best beginning
Is giving up a hit an inning;
That way fans will expect less
And I won’t be in such a mess.