The Baseball Project Album

When Campy Campaneris played all nine positions in a game
When Pete Rose demolished Ray Fosse, he was never the same
31 wins and an album on Capitol for Denny McLain
So long ago, so long, pastime, are you past your prime?

The DiMaggios, Shoeless Joe, Minnie Minoso, Yo La Tengo
Luis Aparicio and Nellie Fox made the Sox go-go
The sideburns of Pepitone and Oscar Gamble's afro
So long ago, so long, pastime, are you past your prime?

One thing you can say about time is that it always passes
One thing you can say about the game is that it's not getting any faster
You can get tangled up in a ball of rubber bands and twine
The cowhide and pine tar, snuff, spit, and chalk dust lines

Two round-trippers and a no-hitter, that's Rick Wise, not Bobby Wine
So long ago, so long, pastime, are you past your prime?

Everyone's so kind and humble
Don't you know that I can see right through it?
Keeping all their comments down
You know it ain't a boast if you can do it
And everyone says "Say hey"
And everyone says "Did you see that kid play?"
I've got to give the kid a hand
But there's nothing that he can do better than I can
I'm Ted Fucking Williams

People say it's hard to like a man
Who doesn't fail and show he's a human
But failure's not a sign of grace
It only means you don't know what you're doing
And everyone says "Hey, Mick"
Mantle this, Mantle that, it makes me sick
It's just so hard to see
Why do they like him better than me?
I'm Ted Fucking Williams

And everyone says "Hey, Duke"
Like everything I did was some kind of fluke
I gotta give the Duke a hand
But there's nothing that he can do better than I can
I'm Ted Fucking Williams

Now everyone's walking like they're rolling in dough
Throwing all their money around just for show
Acting like everything is coming to them
And knowing that more is just around the bend
But I'm the one who paved the way
And laid my body in the road so you can walk on it today
I stood right up when they tried to put me down
You're so high up, you forget to look down

You call that gratitude?

I'm the well-paid slave, and the roads that I paved
Took my career, that's just what I gave
Five years later, they were rolling in clover
But nothing for me, my career was over
If I'd been born just a generation later
I could have settled up with an arbitrator
I'd be wearing fur coats if I were rich
With a "bum-bum-bitty-bitty-bum"

You call that gratitude?

On the day that I died and they laid me in the ground
Where was everybody? They couldn't be found
I'm gone, and they don't know my name
No plaque, no speech, no Hall of Fame
A-Rod, Zito, Tejada, Posada
Johan, Maddux, Manny, Mussina
Who's the one who paved the way with blood?
Go say my name, it's (Flood) Curt Flood

You call that gratitude?

We all need to gain the upper hand
An edge to do even better than we can
No one seemed to care when it brought back the fans
It's a broken record, strike up the band for the broken man

A crowd so loud and a son so very proud
The powers that be counting money, handing me a crown
Only now they decide that it's time to take a stand
It's a broken record, strike up the band for the broken man

You can say I cheated, prop me up defeated
Take a swing at me and the others, too, if you've got nothing better to do
There's a street not far away that's named after me
But my present and future is a gated community
Leave your past behind if you really want to understand
It's a broken record, strike up the band for the broken man

Satchel Paige said, "Don't look back, something might be gaining on you"
Satchel grew up in a shotgun shack, and he had a pile of shotguns, too
He carried so many bags on a pole that he looked just like a satchel tree
Satchel Paige and the Brown Bambino, that's an everlasting battery

And we don't look back, we don't carry on (In society)
And we don't sit still or we might rust
But at the same time, we don't run, and we don't look back

Satchel Paige said, "I could never be late, they could hardly start the game without me"
Satchel Paige didn't get riled up, though his stomach surely had the miseries
So if you follow these few simple rules, you might have a long, productive run
Satchel pitched about a million games, no one ever did what he has done

And we don't look back, we don't carry on (In society)
And we don't sit still or we might rust
But at the same time, we don't run, and we don't look back

Yo trabajo en Chavez Ravine donde mi gente perdieron sus casas vente anos pasado
Y ahora todo el mundo me quiere pero nadie sabe lo que yo hablo despues del partido

Fernando, Fernando
Te necesitamos ahora

Dicen que fue un mania, Fernandomania
Y por que me quiere tanto cuando hoy no le gusta mi gente cuando no estan jugando el juego Americano

Le gente dicen, "devuelvense" y por que cuando hemos vivido aqui por tantos anos

Pero en '81 me quiere, me quiere y ahora que ha cambiado, quiero saber

The summer game has let me down, standing lonely on the mound
A crossroads only I can see, between oblivion and destiny
My mind and body say I'm done, but something says I must go on
Conventional wisdom does implore you give it all and then give some more

Summer slowly turns to fall
It's so hard to walk away from it all
Long before my time

My agent says I need to move, what do I have left to prove?
I falter when I hold my ground, for a couple of bucks, you can keep me around
You're only young just once, I know, but history will always show
You pad your best days with the chaff, a faded, tarnished photograph

Dandy Don and Warren Spahn tell me that I must go on
I must go on, I can't go on, I must go on, I can't go on

If I ever get the chance, I'll let them know just how I feel
I'd like to speak my mind, but that just wasn't in the deal
It's never easy being first to walk down any road
I'd trade the glory just to crawl out from this heavy load
You should hear the things they say behind my back
And when I turn the other cheek, they only sharpen their attack

If I ever get the chance, I'll let them know just how I feel
I'd like to speak my mind, but that just wasn't in the deal
I run the race, but now it seems the race is running me
I try to keep my cool, but all this heat won't let me be
No matter how hard or well I played, I can tell you that I never had it made

I only want to play the game, I only want to make my name
For others who never had the chance, laid out like some sacrificial lamb
A long and lonely road until I steal my way back home again
If I ever get the chance, I'll let them know just how I feel
I'd like to speak my mind, but that just wasn't in the deal

And here's to you, Mr. Robinson

It's 1965, me and my dad Mac
50 miles to Candlestick in our green VW van
A Giants-Dodgers pennant race
Mays and Koufax face to face

Sometimes I dream of Willie Mays
And tell him I was there
Sometimes I dream of Willie Mays
And the sun comes out, and the fog lifts, and he's there

Now it's 1973, right across the bay
Playing right field for the Mets, a ball goes through his legs
I cheer the A's to victory
But that was something I never wanted to see

Sometimes I dream of Willie Mays
And tell him I was there
Sometimes I dream of Willie Mays
And the wind dies down, and the sun comes out, and the fog lifts, and he's there

In 1954, I was born into this dream
The kind that's always black and white, like an old newsreel I've seen
A mile away in the Polo Grounds
He pulls it in and spins himself around

Sometimes I dream of Willie Mays
And tell him I was there
Sometimes I dream of Willie Mays
And the wind dies down, and the sun comes out, and the scoreboard works, and the fog lifts, and he's there
And I'm there

Sometimes, hung over, he might lose a pop fly in the glare of the Washington sun
And, yes, he swung at bad pitches, and let the Irish in him sharpen up and boozy-bloat his tongue
Nights on the road, he led a bachelor's life, with the bright, short blaze of a shooting star
But he soaked some homers, yeah, four in one game, when the ball was dead and the fences far

Big Ed, don't let them weigh you down
Big Ed, don't let us weigh you down

In July 1903, he was hitting .333, for him that was a little bit under par
On the 2nd, he jumped the team and jumped a train from Detroit to New York, went straight for the dining car
He was boozing it up good, they say, making trouble, cursing, shouting, Delahanting in the bar
At Fort Erie, Ontario, he was bumped from the train, wandered out on the bridge, but he didn't get too far

The night watchman said he'd seen a man, ended up wearing his bowler hat
He heard a splash, but he didn't see him fall
What good's it do to question death when it makes a bad call?
But I don't think he killed himself
I think some strange notion drew him to Niagara Falls
Across the curve of day and night
Like the perfect arch of a high fly ball

May 26, 1959, in Milwaukee, on the mound
Harvey Haddix of the Pirates was mowing 'em down
27 up, 27 gone, nine innings in the book
And not a man had gotten on
Now, in history, only 17 have thrown a perfect game
A most exclusive club, and a most exalted fame
But after nine, the Pirates hadn't scored
A perfect game, and still old Harvey had to pitch some more

David Wells, David Cone, Sandy Koufax, Cy Young
Jim Bunning, Tom Browning, Charlie Robertson
Don Larsen in the Series in 1956
Why don't we add old Harvey to that list?

10th inning down, 11th inning down, he moved on to the 12th
Three straight outs, and the fans were pinching themselves
The best game ever pitched, and still a scoreless tie
Poor Harvey had to carry on and give it one more try
Thirteen's never lucky, so you can guess the rest
Harv gave up a hit, and then he lost the whole contest
I wonder how he slept that night, knowing how close he came
To a most exclusive club that should include his name

David Wells, David Cone, Randy Johnson, Addie Joss
Kenny Rogers, Mike Witt, Dennis Martinez
Don Larsen in the Series in 1956
Why don't we add old Harvey to that list?

The search for perfection is a funny thing, at least as I've been told
It drives you nuts, it makes you curse, and eats away at your soul
Sometimes better isn't better, sometimes justice just ain't served
Sometimes legend isn't laid where it's most deserved
But humanity is flawed, as the losers will attest
We're drawn to tragic stories, the ones that suit us best
But for 12 innings on that fateful day, old Harvey was a god
A perfect game, if nothing else, because perfection's always flawed

David Wells, David Cone, Lee RIchmond, Monte Ward
Len Barker against the Jays and Catfish for the A's
Don Larsen in the Series in 1956
Why don't we add old Harvey to that list?

He's a friend of the Smithereens, an old pal of Eddie Vedder
For a good few years there weren't any pitchers better
He loved R.E.M. and he played a Rickenbacker guitar
But for a night on the town with Mike Mills, you get hit pretty hard

Mike and I met up with Dennis Diken and Black Jack somewhere
As this was New York City, you may have heard they have a few bars there
Jack loved the Replacements, and we drank enough that we became them
Two guitars, bass, and drums, yeah, our lineup was the same then

He was crowned the Yankee Flipper by the foul ball of fame
He gave 50,000 fans the finger, but we'd like to share a little bit of the blame
It was Spike and Mike and Black Jack and me

I'm told Jack ended up on the cold tiles of the floor
With his mom, who was visiting, banging on the bathroom door
Next time he took the mound was not a pretty sight
And I've always figured it had a lot to do with that night

The photos filled every front page of the morning editions
Now he's the poster boy for a grand baseball tradition
Templeton, Tejada, Billy Martin, and Albert Belle
From old Hoss Radbourne all the way to David Wells

I sit on my ass and watch the game like everybody else
And when it's on the line, that's when they pull me down from the shelf
You think this kind of pressure is easy, you're just kidding yourself
All my heroes had colorful names and a bad attitude
Short-lived fame and an even shorter fuse
Everything to gain and plenty to lose

If you're only in it for a little while, you'd better make it count
If you can't stand the heat, you're gonna have to get out

I'd pitched five days straight, they didn't want to bring me in
My arm was hamburger meat, they didn't want to bring me in
Bases loaded, nobody out, they had to bring me in
Some hot-shot rookie, they didn't want to bring me in
Switch-hitting batting champ, they didn't want to bring me in
MVP, strike three, my work was done again

If you want to hate my guts, that's all right by me
If you think you've got my number, that's all right by me
But you're gonna have to stand in against me, and then we'll see