The Mets Juan Soto's First Clutch At Bat

 

 27 Mar 2025

The score stood three to nil, with but one inning to play,

Marte and Taylor hit singles, and Acuna walked on this day,

No outs in the ninth top, with all the bases now loaded,

Mets faithful think new player will be branded “Mighty Soto.”

And a pall-like silence fell on patrons of this opening day ball game,

Maybe next year, recalling past years...  is this test just more of the same?

An unfaithful few now gone, turned-off, left in despair. The rest

Clung to some hope springs eternal, in a true baseball fan's breast.

Wondering if our Soto might make one long swing at that!

We'd now bet good money, feeling safe in Juan Soto's bat.

But Senger preceded Soto, and so did Lindor,

The former a newbie, but the latter might score.

So upon that sad multitude a grim melancholy sat,

There was mounting hopes for Soto's coming at bat.

But when Senger struck out not to the wonderment of all,

Then Lindor's line drive pop-up tore the cover off the ball.

Knocked in Marte, game score now increased by a crucial one,

With more runs now coming in minds of the Met faithful some.

And when the dust lifted, and fans saw what occurred,

There was Acuna safely on first, while Taylor hugged third.

Then in a hundred thousand fans there rose a strong yell,

It rumbled in the valleys, and it rattled through the dell. 

It pounded on high mountains and recoiled upon the flat,

For Soto, The Mighty Soto, was advancing to bat.

There was ease in Soto's manner as he stepped to the plate, 

There was pride in Soto's bearing and a smile lit his face.

And when, responding to the cheers, he doffed his fine hat,

No stranger in the crowd could doubt, it was JUAN SOTO at bat.

Thousands of eyes were on Soto, rubbed hands with some dirt,

Applause from those thousands as he wiped hands on his shirt.

Then while a writhing pitcher ground the baseball into his hip,

Defiance flashed in Soto's eye, a knowing sneer curled his lip.

Now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,

And Soto stood watching it pass with a haughty grandeur.

Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped,

"That's not my style," said Soto. "Strike one!" the umpire said.

From the benches and stands, full with fans, up went a muffled roar,

Like the beating of the storm-waves on some rugged distant shore.

"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted one guy in the stands, 

And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Soto raised a hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Soto's visage shone, 

He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on.

He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the ball flew, 

But Soto fowled-off it, and the umpire said, "Strike TWO!"

“Fraud!” cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!"

But one scornful look from Soto and the audience was awed.

They saw his face grow stern... they saw Soto's muscles strain,

And they knew that Soto would not let that baseball fool him again.

The sneer is gone from Soto's lip, his teeth clenched in hate,

He pounds with cruel violence his bat on home plate.

And now the pitcher holds ball, and now he lets it go,

And now the air is shattered by strong force of Soto's blow.

Somewhere in this favored land the sun shines bright,

A band playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts light.

Somewhere people are laughing, somewhere children shout,

But there's no joy in THE CITY — “The Mighty Soto” just struck out.

PAGE 2

SO GAME OVER...  'STROS WIN...  METS LOST THIS GAME,

PLAYIN' NOW OVER... WILL THERE BE MORE OF THE SAME?

 

SOTO...  MIGHTY SOTO... HEAD HANGIN'... SLOW WALKS TO HIS SEAT,

MET BALL FANS NOW ALL WISHIN'... THIS DON'T OFTEN REPEAT. 

(Ernest Lawrence Thayer's original poem “Casey at the Bat” is in the public domain)

Source:  to view the very fine Wikipedia reference click HERE