The outlook wasn't brilliant for the E Streeter
seven this day;
The temp was twenty two, colder winds were on the
way.
Carlos cancelled out, Rick Sobey and Sean Kenny did
the same.
A pall-like silence fell upon the runners' hopes at
fame.
A tenacious few showed up to run in deep despair.
The rest they wondered could it be that Scott would
join us there?
They said, "If Ryan could inspire us by
returning to run this date,
We'd put up Vegas money and put Piekos at the
Plate."
It happened forty years ago, but John's memories
still ring true,
And who's going to challenge his version, not me,
surely not you.
The stands were filled, the press was there, history
waiting to be made,
The Chelmsford writers would dub it the Greatest
Game Ever Played.
The story as it's told had the running basepaths
filled
John was ready to win the championship, his nerves
they all were stilled,
A single, or a double, a triple or home run
Any swing of John's mighty bat, and lo, the game was
won.
When from the line of runners there arose a mighty
yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the
dell;
It pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the
flat,
It was a thigh injury, a hamstring that had felled
the mighty Pat.
A few choice words, a painful grimace and broken
heart,
Pat knew his only choice was to hobble back to the
start.
But John he forged ahead and made his return to
Glory Days
He stepped up to the plate to recount his tale,
parting history's haze.
E Streeter eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands
with dirt;
The Scanlon brothers' tongues derided when he wiped
them on his shirt;
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into
his hip,
Defiance flashed in Piekos' eye, a sneer curled
Johnny's lip.
And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling
through the air,
And Piekos stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur
there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped,
"That ain't my style," said Piekos. "BALL ONE!" the umpire said.
From the sidelines, lined with Streeters, there went
up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm waves on a stern and
distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted
someone in the stands;
And it's likely they'd have killed him had not
Piekos raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity great Johnny's
visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on.
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun
sphere flew;
But Piekos still ignored it and the umpire said,
"BALL TWO!"
"Fraud!" cried Tom and Barry, and echos
answered "Fraud!"
But one scornful look from Piekos and the audience
was awed.
Andrew saw John's face grow stern and cold, Steve
saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Johnny might let that ball go by
again.
The sneer is gone from Piekos' lips, his teeth are
clenched in hate,
He pounds with cruel violence, his bat upon the
plate;
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets
it go,
And now the air is shattered, the count, it's 3 and
0.
One pitch more and somewhere in this favored land,
the sun is shining bright,
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts
are light;
And somewhere men are laughing and somewhere newsmen
talk,
There is joy in Streeter Nation - mighty Piekos took
the walk.
