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It looked extremely rocky for the Twins in '89,
When Hrbek hurt his shoulder and Frank began to whine.
And so when losses mounted and far outnumbered wins,
A pallor wreathed the features of the patrons of the Twins.
On the last day of the season, though, the fans were not depressed,
For there's hope that springs eternal within a Twins fan's breast.
And they knew if mighty Hrbek could unleash his mighty swing,
T'would put a smile on their face and keep them warm till spring.
But it looked as if their wounded pride would not be healed this day,
The score stood four to six with but an inning left to play.
And so when Newman popped it up and Gladden hit it flat,
There seemed but little chance of Hrbek's getting to the bat.
But Kirby bounced a single off the artificial grass,
Gaetti lined a shot to left that struck the plexiglass!
A hush swept through the Metrodome, for fate had surely beckoned,
For there was Puckett safe on third, and G-Man huggin' second.
And then the gladdened multitude cheered and screamed and squealed,
It rattled off the scoreboard and the canvas in right field.
They cheered till they could cheer no more, for this was worth the wait,
For Hrbek, mighty Hrbek, was advancing to the plate.
There was ease in Hrbek's manner and a twinkle in his eyes,
There was grease on Hrbek's fingers as he polished off some fries.
And when some popcorn spilled out as he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the Dome could doubt 'twas Hrbek at the bat.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as the game ground to a halt,
Five thousand tongues applauded as he drained a chocolate malt.
And as the pitcher glared at him, his hands upon his hips,
The mighty Hrbek gestured for a hot dog and some chips.
And then the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Hrbek clutched his stomach as if it struck him there.
The trainer started running out, but Kent just shook his head,
"It's just some gas," burped Hrbek. "Strike one," the Umpire said.
With a smile borne of confidence, he took some practice cuts,
And stepped back in the batter's box while munching on some nuts.
He signaled to the pitcher and again the spheroid flew,
"Got some salt?" asked Hrbek, and the Umpire said, "Strike two!"
The smile is gone from Hrbek's lips. He mutters, "Time out, please,"
And hurries to the dugout for a Whopper, double cheese.
And now the pitcher holds the ball and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Hrbek's blow.
Oh, somewhere there's a stadium where fans all shout and cheer,
As their team wins its division and the playoffs every year.
But inside the empty Metrodome, all is still and quiet.
But just you wait till next year — mighty Hrbek's on a diet! |
