give thanks

Player: Mark Carreon
Card: 1991 Fleer #142
Errors: Players is In Action! Don't forget, card owners, to watch SportsChannel! Do you know why he's running to fast? He's being chased by Harrison Ford and Tommy Lee Jones!
Comments:
Stuff I Am Thankful For
an essay by That Guy in the Circle
I am thankful for baseball, the grand old game. It inspires me and comforts me. It keeps my summers full of happiness and joy. It gives me something to look forward to in the long, cold winters.
I am thankful for the Arizona sun, which keeps my ripped, bodacious body tanned and smoking - something the ladies are very thankful for. Thank you, ladies.
I am thankful for white shorts, which not only show off my buns and my Satchel Paige, but keep me cool and relaxed. Thank you, white shorts.
I am thankful for late inning blowouts in spring training and lazy ushers, who allow me to slip up to the front row, into the $22 seats. Suh-weet. Thank you, ushers.
I am thankful that I was there. I was there to witness Mark Carreon scoring a meaningless spring training run when some not-ready-for-the-big-leagues outfielder momentarily bobbled the ball. Thank you, outfielder.
But, most of all, I am thankful that Fleer hired photographers with deep focus lenses who could perfectly capture This Place, This Event, This Moment. How would my many, many future children believe it happened without you, Fleer photographer? Thank you, future kids.
So, yes, I am thankful for a lot of stuff.
Scoring: 3U

one point twenty one gigawatts

Player: Len Randle
Card: 1978 Topps # 544
Errors: It appears the first baseman went out of his way to tag with the non-glove hand. Randle may have been a more effective defensive player if he had two hands.
Comments:
And so it came down to this. The past. The future. The world.
Full count. Bases jammed. Tie game.
If Randle drives in this run, then the Mets win. Then Randle will not be released by the team. Then he will be there to stop the Commies from placing The Bomb in Lee Mazzilli's locker. Then Shea Stadium will not collapse. Then democracy will be saved.
And all that Randle had been through - the DeLorian repairs, kissing his mom, shooting Doc, punching Bump "Biff" Wells - will not be in vain.
Randle pushes his left cleat into the deep dirt of San Diego Stadium, like a farmer pulling up a soybean.
Above him, the stadium's P.A. cranks out Chuck Berry's Johnny B. Goode.
"Randle you can do this," he says to himself. "It is your density."
Butch Metzger, a 6-foot-1, 185-pound Indiana boy who isn't afraid of anybody, snarls and huffs on the mound. He rears back.
"It's the heat," Randle mutters. "Fastball. Fastball. Fastball. Fas..."
The pitch is inside. Randle pulls his hands in defensively.
The baseball hits off the knob of his bat.
Clunk.
A dribbler down the third base line.
Randle freezes. Would a gust of wind push the ball foul? No one has time to find out. Randle looks in the stands. Half of the fans already vanished.
Randle tears down the line. Each step eats a yard of real estate.
He notices his right hand.
It's fading.
Why had Randall listened to Christopher Lloyd? That guy was driving a taxi last week. Now he was supposed to be a scientist? He was a buffoon! They should have never believed they could mess with this stuff. Changing the past only changed the future. Unlike the basepaths, time is not a straight line.
Randle screams and dives toward salvation, even though it is legal to run through first base in Major League Baseball (as long as you turn toward foul territory after passing the bag) and sliding reduces a player's momentum, essentially slowing him down at the critical instant.
A cloud of dust.
The umpire throws up his arms.
Safe!
Mets win.
Randle celebrates. His hand - it's back! The Mets will not release him and the bomb will never be placed. The world is back on track. Everything will be fine.
As his teammates rush the field, Randle tosses his batting helmet into the air. The Mets bench piles on to today's hero, unaware just how much he saved.
Meanwhile, the helmet careens toward the stands, catching a Hawaiian baseball fan on the side of his head. It's a violent collision.
Young Barry Obama would never hear again.
Scoring: 5-3

you make the call

Players: Sid Fernandez, Jerry Don Gleaton
Card: 1990 Fleer #203, 1991 Topps #597
Errors: Jerry Don Gleaton is melting into his pants. Pardon me, would you mind stopping what you're doing, smiling and standing awkwardly while I take a snapshot? GQ says showing your undershirt is a fashion faux-pas.
Comments:
When you came up to the bigs, you didn't have to make these kinds of choices. But, now, alas, the time is here.
You're no longer a dominating pitcher - if you ever were. You never won 20 games or struck out 250 batters. The writers called you "crafty". But everybody knows that means you threw junk and you threw it left-handed. So, you survived. Pitched more years than Sandy Koufax, without one-tenth his stuff.
Your rookie year, you were somewhere between 210 and 230 pounds. And even though that's about 500 donuts ago, that's the weight that stays in the team media guide, forever.
But it couldn't stop you from arriving at this point in your career, a crossroads.
Obviously, the choice may not be entirely your own. You may need to consult a physician, haberdasher or butcher.
Or, more likely, you can just go with your gut.
Either way, you must confront the reality: belt or no belt?
Select a nice blue belt and you're never going to have to worry about the pants falling down. They'll be snug against your sizable posterior, no worries. They're also fashionable without being haughty.
Then again, you could end up in a one-hole's-too-tight, one-hole's-too-loose situation. Belts also put you at risk for an unfortunate buckle incident. Of course, any metal on your uniform could make you vulnerable to the 'ole Pittsburgh magnet trick.
But eschew the belt at your own risk. Sure, the elastic band is classic comfort. Good for bundling newspapers and sucking in a few extra pounds. It can also give you the breathability you need to field a Brett Butler drag bunt.
Of course, everyone knows that elastic has a mind of it's own. In the fifth inning, for no apparent reason, the band can slowly creep past your waist, head straight for your armpits, like an orange-and-black python swallowing you whole. And it's pretty difficult to scuff up a baseball on elastic.
But we all must choose. So, what will you do?
Scoring: 8-2

there once was a pitcher in new york

Player: Jon Matlack
Card: 1973 Topps #55
Errors: Player reached for the Golden Chalice of Topps All-Star Rookie-ness, but failed to grasp it. Player has batting-coach-shaped tumor growing out of left butt cheek-al region. Player may have laid two glove-shaped eggs on the field. Simon says touch right elbow to left knee - you too shadow player in the corner!
Comments:
OFFICIAL RESULTS - Bethpage Limerick Contest
Bronze medal ($5 gift card to Carvel)
Joe Christopher, Kramer Lane Elementary

There once was pitcher from West Chester P-A,
He threw for the Mets every fifth day.
But in between starts,
He had really bad farts.
And used his blue glove to subtly fan them away.

Judge’s notes: Good form, questionable use of ‘farts’, good rhyming.

Silver Medal (Two weekday passes to Science Museum of Long Island)
Rick Herrscher, Charles Campagne Elementary
Jon Matlack only pitched from the grass,
And his teammates thought this was a gas,
Until the manger stepped in,
And said with a grin,
If you do that again, I’ll kick your rear.

Judge's notes: Teacher’s editing of the poem cleans up improper language, but takes away some rhyming. Overall, nice effort.

Gold Medal (Family pass to Old Bethpage Restoration Village, plus $15 in Bethpage bucks)
Sammy Drake, John F. Kennedy Elementary

Jon Matlack was impossible to hit,
His mound tricks gave each batter a fit.
But one stunt truly shocked,
If his colon wasn’t blocked.
Matlack leaned over and pooped out a mitt.
Judge's notes: We are concerned about the number of entries that discuss bodily functions. Still, this entrant shows a mastery of the a-a-b-b-a structure of the classic limerick. Bravo!

Scoring: 8-5