“Little League”

Once in awhile, I show my grinning smile.
While I love to play the game, and my buddies feel the same.
But there’s just something about, the pressure gives me doubt.
Because it all comes really hard, I’m not at home in ball yards.

As I knew the time was right, I grabbed my gear and then took flight.
I never looked back ‘cuz my managers mean, when I fail he creates really big scenes.
And it’s not just every now and then, he’s always looking for a way to begin.
Then sure enough one sunny day, I failed to make the play.

And Holy Split, He Came Unglued.
I Couldn’t Field that Groundin’ Ball, So Now We All Continue.
Oh, Mister Can You Please Tell Me, What’s a Tryin’ Kid Supposed to Do?
We Fail Sixty Six Percent, Holy Split, He Came Unglued.

My mom made me go back, and apologies for talkin’ smack.
My buddies opened their friendship arms, but the managers nerves they fell apart.
And I could see by his grumpy face, he didn’t know the Lord’s mercy grace.
He had his sights out gunnin’ for me, my chest could barely breath.

When the team was ready to take the field, I knew I’ld better keep my eyelids peeled.
‘Cuz all the balls that were hit my way, I’ld have to make sensational plays.
Then sure enough one ball it came, and my glove went down to claim my fame.
But I only brought up air, between my legs this ain’t fair.

And Holy Split, He Came Unglued.
I Couldn’t Field that Groundin’ Ball, So Now We All Continue.
Oh, Mister Can You Please Tell Me, What’s a Tryin’ Kid Supposed to Do?
We Fail Sixty Six Percent, Holy Split, He Came Unglued.

Now that I’m older, I sympathies with those kids.
More rolls off my shoulders, and I donned me a managers lid.
You can see in my gleeful smile, my rope goes on for miles and miles.
Not much of my game has changed, just love rearranged.

Now as those kids take that diamond field, for the very last time their cryin’ eyes reveal.
The love they shared became a tight knit bond, ‘cuz they fought together a full spring long.
So then as the final plays pass by, I tipped my hat to tell them why.
To be ready to field the last out, pop up there’s no doubt.

And Holy Split, I Came Unglued.
They Couldn’t Catch that Pop Up, So Now We All Continue.
Oh, Ump, Ump, Ump, Ump, Umpire. What’s a Tryin’ Manager Supposed to Do?
When They Fail Sixty Six Percent, Holy Split, I Came Unglued.

Music and Lyrics, 2017: Peter J. Beauchemin