Ballad: May 4-11, 2023
Write a ballad. You can take this to mean poetry or song, whichever you prefer. Bonus points if your ballad is written about a character from a TV show. More info on ballads can be found here.
The Submissions:
“The Rime of the Seattle Mariner” - by Captain Quillard
I was going to do a ballad about a TV character for extra points, but then decided that the world was missing a ballad about the time that Randy Johnson exploded a bird with a fastball.
Should the result have turned out much better than this? Yes.
But, did I churn this thing out in 45 minutes over my lunch break today? Also yes.
It is a former Mariner,
And he stoppeth this ball fan.
‘By thy long hair, what do you want?
I’m in line for the can.’
‘The queue for beer, it getteth long;
It’s seventh-inning stretch.
The game is tied, Wilson’s up next,
And I’ve hot dogs to fetch.’
He holds him with his steely gaze,
“There was a pitch…” quoth he.
‘Let me go, you skinny loon!
I really have to pee!’
He holds him with his great moustache--
The ball fan then stands still,
And listens to the tale rehashed:
The Mariner hath his will.
The ball fan finds an empty seat:
He cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that tall athlete.
So much for one last beer.
“‘Twas Spring Training Two-Thousand-One,”
The man starts to expound,
“With Calvin Murray up to bat,
And I upon the mound.”
“The sun came up over third base,
Out of the sky came he!
Flown from the right with down of white
But not yet seen by me.
“The catcher called for my fastball
Thrown to his mitt of leather.
I threw the orb, eftsoons absorbed -
An explosion of feathers!
“And through the stands of dumbstruck fans,
A deaf’ning silence heard,
Except one verse – my lifelong curse:
‘The Unit killed a bird!’”
“My teammates soon all turned on me,
Despite my desperate pleas.
Not e’en empaths foresee flight paths
Intersecting with my cheese!
“Banned from the dugout, I quenched my thirst
At the clubhouse bathroom sink
Huge jugs of Gatorade ev’rywhere,
But not a drop to drink.
“My curse was blamed each time the team
Suffered another loss.
Bereft of love, a mourning dove
Became my albatross.
“Not a Mariner then, I’d avoid the bullpen;
The team’s jeers left me rattled.
One pitch for Arizona had ruined the persona
I’d developed so well in Seattle.
“And I had done a hellish thing,
That made our friendship chilly:
For all averred, I had killed the bird
That made us lose to Philly.
‘Ah wretch!’ said they, the bird to slay
That made us lose to Philly.
“Nor Astros nor Reds, could we get ahead,
To all our fans amazement.
Then all averred, I had killed the bird
That left us in the basement.
‘Twas right,’ said they, such birds to slay,
Find you in the NL basement.
“Such remorse I felt for that poor bird
I’d murdered from the mound.
With a heavy thump, a lifeless lump
Lay featherless on the ground.
“Its soul did from its body fly
Amidst the grassy mall.
That very soul, it passed me by,
Like the whizz of my fastball.
“But time passed, too, and wins a few
Were from opponents wrest.
When all the fun was said and done
We’d won the NL West.
“And next the Cards and Braves went down,
Along with bird curse theories.
The Yankees last gave up the crown--
We’d won the damned World Series!
“I won 20 games that year – absurd!
And struck out 300 hitters.
And prob’ly would’ve killed one less poor bird
Had I only thrown the splitter.
“The one thing I learned when that bird was struck
and from subsequent facts that I’ve chronicled:
There may be a reason you’re cursed with bad luck
But it prob’ly ain’t ornithological.
Next Week’s Assignment:
Monotography
Pick a color or color family - the less prevalent the better. Take at least 4 and no more than 12 photos of things you see around you in your daily life that are in that same color family.