Ballad Of Jackie John, The Baseball Fan© 2001 Jesse SlokumHis life was rough and his father was rougher He never knew his mother before she died Raped by the crazy gang down the street Rage was the single companion Jackie John knew he'd have to be tougher Than any of those whom his father shot So he learned to scowl at all he'd meet Vietnam took him young and so tired The first in line, he was the only fellow On his block, to come home or be hired By the corner garage, for not being yellow A veteran at twenty-one, he was sure That he knew the answer to the question Why do you live at all, but to die He'd just say, "Get what and while you can." It didn't take him long to find a lady. For whom soldiers were an obsession They got drunk, he got married, she had kids. He got his relaxation as a baseball fan But to his dismay, his wife was certain That all that time at the baseball park Was why their marriage would soon be hurtin' He started to recall being jumped in the dark No, he wasn't getting along with his wife, She would always bitch and shout "You're a grown man, why do you waste Your time and our money at the games?" Ev'ry time he looked at her, he saw a bowie knife He didn't even know what he would do about His urge to lunge and jump on her throat. But the time he spent at games eased the pain. When the players' strike was announced, It hit him like a ton of concrete blocks He heard his hero being denounced He went to the field feeling empty, like his box. So he would wait until the season Began again, if it did resume at all He got just the thing to do the job Went to the sports store and bought a duffel bag. Then he thought about that pampered brat On a visiting team he wanted to see fall The one he hated most with no relief The very one he always called a rotten scummy fag He could hardly keep his cool that summer He would go down in notoriety Why, no All-Star game was the biggest bummer He would take care of that for all to see And when 2 rifle shots rang out The idol of more than a million boys And some of the nation's finest men Crumpled in a heap on the ground And then pandemonium reigned It came down like flaming hail, the noise Was deafening, the umpire screamed "They'll kill us all!" but his cries were drowned As the stands began to stampede For all the too few exit gates, So many children trampled underfeet Met their ungoldy, grisly fates. When it was over, one thousand were dead. The riot squad and the national guard Were hardly enough to restore order Rather called it The Circus Maximus, "Is this Nero's Rome, or the U.S.A.? Russian Roulette, or just a wild card? Are we civlized too little, or too much? How could this happen to all of US?" Well, NOW...you people have heard the tale Of a nightmare that struck me flat It was enough to stop me cold, turn me pale... Let us Pray, it never turns out like that, Let us Pray, it never turns out like that, Let us Pray, it never turns out like that. This story came to me during the year of the baseball strike, When I thought about the plausibility of someone snapping like J.J. did. It was presented as a prayer that no one ever would, in an attempt To understand what might gone on in such a head, "bent out of shape by society's plyers," to quote Bob Dylan's "IT'S ALRIGHT MA - I'M ONLY BLEEDIN'..." Author's disclaimer: All persons depicted in this song are purely Fictional. Any resemblance between them, and anyone living or dead, is strictly co-incidental. |