The Billiken's Bluff

I was a terror since the public school era
Bathroom passes, cuttin classes, squeezing asses
Smoking blunts was a daily routine



Hugs from the honeys, Pounds from the roughnecks
Seen my man Sei that I knew from the projects
Said he had beef, asked me if I had my peice
Sure do, two .22's in my shoes
Holler if you need me love i'm in the house

If he were a teacher rather than a pitcher he would make learning fun, the type to turn defense into offense, and cook brussel sprouts into cheese fries.

If he were Jewish he would be the Tzaddik Ha-Dor, the talent of his generation ready to assume the throne in the Promised Land if the world is ready and if the Giants have a setup man in the bullpen, God willing.



Lyceum, chrysanthemum, Lincecum, chromium





His name, confused like a Japanese import,



the type ghetto-ized into AAA obscurity except for one thing, he pitches like a young Martinez.



A name like the Roman Empire in all its expanse. His delivery to the plate, efficient, sharp, chiseled like a statue.



His failures are spectacularly unexpected. I watched him down 1-0 to the Cubs and all felt off-kilter.



Talent that needs mentoring. Forget pedigree, he should have burst on the scene from some island from the south, or a community college in Queens.



Like a force of nature in need of sober establishment tutelage.



He is as impressive as he will ever be. Speculation and hype and hope are ends in themselves - this post. Like... believe in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter- tomorrow we will run faster, stretch our arms farther… and one fine morning-



Griffey will pass Bonds as he was always supposed to.





For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.