Could be!
Go know?
There's someone due any day;
I will know right away,
Soon as it shows.
It may come cannonballing down from Mt. Sinai,
Brisket in his eye
With a bent nose
Go Know?
It's only just out of reach,
Down a block off Brighton Beach,
Under a planted tree.
I got a feeling there's a miracle due,
Gonna come true,
A Yankee Jew?
The International League announced today that Scranton/Wilkes-Barre pitcher Jason Hirsh has been named the League's Pitcher of the Week for the period from August 2-8.
Hirsh's honor represents the fourth time this season the Pitcher of the Week Award has gone to a Scranton/WB hurler, all coming within the last five weeks (Jonathan Albaladejo, July 5-11 and July 15-18, and Tim Redding, July 26-Aug. 1).
Hirsh won a pair of games for the first place Yankees this week, while tying for the League lead with 14 strikeouts. Each win helped put more distance between the Yankees and their opponents in the IL North.
Dustin time you’ve found us Dustin time
Before you came our time was running low
We were lost Andy's groin was tossed
Our pitching staff was crossed nowhere to go
Now you're here, now we know just where we're going
No more doubt of fear we've found our way
For wins came Dustin time
You’ve found us Dustin time
And helped our pennant fight that lucky day
Hey lover
Let's make the scene
I've got a crazy hifi in my limousine
Birds of a feather
Should wing it together
If we're forsaking love
We're breaking Burke's Law
Hey lover
Let's make some time
If we don't grab this moment
It would be a crime
Love me, admit it
And you'll be acquitted
When we're making love
We're making Burke's Law
It's a law
Without a flaw
It's practically ideal
It's a cool unbending rule
From which there's no appeal
Hey lover
Let's make some sense
If you're defying Burke's Law
You have no defense
Since I'm testifying
My love's undying
Give in, baby give
And live by Burke's Law
I've played my ace now
I rest my case now
Hey Yank fans
Give me some slack
I've got nothing left in my big bat
I'm from the NL
A league that's below level
If you're forsaking wins
We're bringing Berke's Law
Hey Yank fans
You're losing time
If we don't grab this moment
It would be a crime
Don't blame me, admit it
Let Cash be convicted
If you're forsaking wins
We're making Berke's Law
Cara Berkman has been living in Houston her entire life, that is the place where she was born, grew up, got married and would see her leave her beloved Texas, as her husband has been traded to the New York Yankees.Wow, the great Frank "Home Run" Baker finished his tenure with the Yankees with a .288 batting average, 46 home runs and 375 RBIs in 676 games.
Before becoming Cara Berkman she was known as Cara Baker to Johnny and Carla Baker, her life has been surrounded by sports since she was born. Her father is Johnny Baker, who played with the Oilers, Frank Baker her uncle with the Yankees, her brothers Jacob (Kansas City Royals) and Joshua (Rangers, Brewers). Her maiden name was the the name her husband got when he was introduced to her by her brother Josh while he was at Rice University in Houston, Texas.
In 1982, Lance Berkman's family moved to Austin, and the boy’s baseball training intensified. Back then, conventional wisdom held that young players shouldn’t lift weights. But Larry, Lance's father, remembered meeting a scout when he was at UT who suggested that arm strength could be built safely and effectively in kids by having them swing a bat at a tire. So he hung a tire from a tree and told Lance to take 100 cuts—50 lefthanded and 50 righthanded—each day after school.
Because tires have more mass than baseballs do, Lance had to drive through the hitting zone with a lot of energy just to complete his swings. This gave him strength other boys did not possess. He also hit off a tee, helping him to hone his mechanics. And mechanics were everything to Lance. He devoted his weekends to his swing—both lefty and righty—throughout his childhood and teens years, spending countless hours in the batting cages when his friends were goofing around and having fun.
When Alexander Berkman started to avenge the Homestead strikers he knew a deed like that could only be paid for by his death and he was ready to sacrifice his young life without hesitation for his outraged sense of justice. Berkman tried to assassinate Henry Clay Frick, steel mogul whose private detectives killed 10 of his striking employees. Alex shot Frick three times and then stabbed him with a curare-tipped dagger before he was overcome by his bodyguard. Unfortunately (and miraculously) Frick survived.
Perhaps if Alexander had practiced on tires, to gain strength like Lance did, he would have succeeded with the stabbing.
No matter how one evaluates his deed, none would doubt his sincerity if one only had the patience to delve into the complicated soul of humanity and guess its secrets. When a person, particularly a young man whose life still has everything to offer, is ready to risk his all without hope of return, he must not be evaluated by ordinary standards. This is a deed which can only be explained when its motives are appreciated. He who does not understand how one could give everything for a cause which bore for him the whole meaning of life, will never understand a person like Berkman. The average philistine who calculates his life by profit and loss, and whose hardened soul cannot understand any action which is not motivated by the desire for profit, will never see in people like Berkman other than brutal force who menace the existence of society. They will never comprehend that it was not crudeness of sentiment that made Berkman commit his deed, but that it was his love for humanity, his respect for human life, that impelled him to take a life. This rare trait was characteristic of Berkman to his very end and was the key to his personality.
William Lance Berkman was born in Waco, Texas, on February 10, 1976. The second Cynthia and Larry Berkman's three children, Lance had an immense appetite as an infant, slurping down entire bottles without stopping. What intrigued Larry was that his son would then hurl the bottle out of his crib. Lefthanded.
The elder Berkman had been a pretty fair baseball player in his time—good enough to log three seasons at the University of Texas as a walk-on outfielder in the late 1960s. Larry decided that Lance’s southpaw bottle tosses were a sign that he would become a ball player himself.
Alexander Berkman, the son of a Jewish businessman, was born in Vilnius, the capital of Lithuania, on 21st November, 1870. At the time the territory was part of the Russian Empire. His father, a wholesaler in the shoe industry, was prosperous enough to be allowed to move to St. Petersburg.
Berkman grew up in comfortable surroundings, that including servants and a summer house. He attended a gymnasium reserved for the privileged elements of society.
On 1st March, 1881, Tsar Alexander II was assassinated. The bomb blast shattered the windows of his classroom. That evening, his older brother, who sympathized with the revolutionists, told him that he had been killed by the People's Will. As the author of Anarchist Portraits (1995), has pointed out, Berkman "was deeply moved by the martyrdom of the populists, five of whom were hanged for their part in the assassination. He was inspired by their idealism and courage, and from that time forward their example lingered in his thoughts." Thus, like his "descendant" Lance, Alexander was a left-winger.
In his 14 years in prison Alexander Berkman wrote "Prison Memoirs of an Anarchist." It is considered one of those rare books which once read is never forgotten. In this book all the suffering and pain of a courageous spirit struggling against great odds is told in a background of drab prison life. Most of those upon whom fate has placed such trials break down under the pressure of personal sorrow.
In his 15 at bats as Yankee, Lance has two singles and one rbi.
The moment you start up
Before you even throw your warm ups
I say a little prayer for you
While tearing my hair, out
And wondering what way you'll allow a blow out
I say a little prayer for you
Forever, forever, you'll put a strain on my heart
and I will hate you
Forever, forever, I hope you will part
Oh, how I hate you
Your failure, Your failure, that's how it must be
To live without you
Would only be heartening for me.
You're in a trance if you think lance is the guy
Who has an eye that lets balls take flight
Don't be beguiled by the smile of the man
Who holds your hand in prayers neath the pale moon light
don't forget it's rays that drive them home
And in whose wake you're gonna be
So yank fans it might be 2nd place for thee
They say that Jesus loves you
....what about yank-ees?
And they say that lefties break you
....well, I still wanna see
They say that you're bats been only half alive
Till you give playing on a pennant winner a try
Well I wanna see
I wanna see
What can you do for yankees?
You're a Grand er son
You gave us a game winning run
And forever in first may we stay
You're the emblem of
The team I love.
The home of the Mick and the Babe
Ev'ry heart beats true
'neath the yankee White and the Blue,
Where we're not afraid to boast or brag.
Should auld rivals be forgot,
But Curtis, why would keep your eye on Kathy, that grand fag hag?
Carl Crawford he may talk sweet
He may not have much to say
But his boys loves he, loves he, loves he
And he lets them freely stray
And maybe he don't cup them
But maybe we really should mind
Because every time they are hurt
It's Yank future that may be misaligned
Lets hear it for Carl Crawford's boys
Lets give his boys a hand
Lets hear it for those babies
You know you got to to understand
Whoa, maybe he's a Devil Ray
But maybe he'll one day for the Yankees play
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa
Lets hear it for Carl Crawford's boys
Jeez Montero bashedeth two HRs Tuesday night, both opposite field miracles, in the above-ground diamond mine located in the Anthracite Capital of the World -- yea unto Scranton! -- alternative home to Dwight Shrute and Vice President Joe Bite-Me!Justin Smoak hit a couple of homers over the weekend, but he quickly defaulted to his
Tonight, 3 for 3 with a double. Since the all-star break, he's batting .524.
In fact, ever since we betrayed Jesus in a trade -- only to have the deal scuttled by a large, bearded Voice from Heaven, which almost perfectly coincided with the calling of George Steinbrenner to meet his maker -- Montero has ascendedeth onto a team-saving tear: 4 homers, a flock of base hits and he's been driving in runners like money-changers from a temple.
The fans will grow bitter
Smoak will lose his glitter;
His bat grows colder
His future projects less bolder
And all because of the lord that got away
No more Zduriencik's eager Rangers' call,
Boy, that took a lot of gall
His foolish dreams will all
Go astray.
Jack, the greed that won you
Will go off and undo you.
Justin's brief upswinging
Has seen the final inning.
Don't know what happened. It's all a crazy game!
No more that 5 tool thrill,
For you'll go through the mill -
And never a new lord will
You attain
The devil rays are young, they're a team to fearbtw the girl in the video is Mitsuko Sawamura. To learn about her view this
So if you want to go beat them dear,
He's delightful, he's Swishalicious, he's de-lovely.
I understand the reason why
Tampa fans have reason to cry
He's delightful, he's Swishalicious, he's de-lovely.
You could tell at a glance
that tonight's game was one in a trance
You can hear dear Mother Nature
Murmuring, "For George, a win must we forge "
So sweet it is my chickadee,
That Nick's an all star, it's his right to be
He's delightful, he's Swishalicious,
he's delectable, he's Swishalicious,
It's dilemma, it's delimit, it's deluxe,
He's de-lovely".
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