Shea Stadium, April 9, 1985
Stamping numb toes, drinking hot-as-lava coffee,
Sipping schnapps,
Clouds of breath bursting
Like the breath of
Charging horses and men
At the Battle of Châlons;
“Should we go?”
“No, man, the score is tied;”
Gary Carter wiggles his bat,
Looks in at the pitcher,
CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACKKKKK!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And that ball is gone!
His first game as a Met,
Wins it,
We chant, for the first time:
GAR-Y! GAR-Y GAR-Y! GAR-Y! GAR-Y! GAR-Y! GAR-Y!
GAR-Y! GAR-Y! GAR-Y! GAR-Y! GAR-Y!
The subway was crammed with victory.
Today is the day Gary Carter walks off the playing field,
Down the tunnel,
And out of our view;
Just like Bobby Thomson,
And you and I,
We will;
Ex-athletes are symbols
Of what they did to thrill us,
Live totems;
Let us toss the animal-hide ball
With a child, and know, perhaps,
That they, too, will exult in triumph,
That this happiness can expand,
To their quiet days.