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Overheard before the game (Or Halladay V)

Apologies to the Bard of Bards and the Ace of Aces:

Enter the ACE

WESTMOYERLAND: O that we had here
    But one toolsy infielder more off the bench
    That does no work to-day!

ACE: What's he that wishes so?
    My cousin Westmoyerland? No, my fair cousin;
    If we are mark'd to lose, we are enow
    To do our city loss; and if to win,
    The smaller roster, the greater share of honour.
    God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
    By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
    Nor care I who doth swing over my cutter;
    It yearns me not if men my jersey wear;
    Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
    But if it be a sin to covet yon trophy,
    I am the most offending soul alive.
    No, faith, my coz, wish not another man on the bench.
    God's peace! I would not lose so great a trophy
    As one man more methinks would share from me
    For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
    Rather proclaim it, Westmoyerland, through my host,
    That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
    Let him depart; his rookie card shall be devalued,
    And crowns for contract put into his purse;
    We would not lose in that man's company
    That fears his fellowship to lose with us.
    This day is call'd the feast of NLCS.
    He that outhustles this day, and is called safe at home,
    Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
    And rouse him at the name of this series.
    He that shall win this day, and see old age,
    Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
    And say 'To-morrow is the NLCS.'
    Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
    And say 'This HBP I took on the Phillies’ day.'
    Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
    But he'll remember, with advantages,
    What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
    Familiar in his mouth as household words-
    Roy the Ace, Utley and Howard,
    Jayson and Jimmy, Carlitos and Charlie-
    Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
    This story shall the good man teach his son;
    And the NLCS shall ne'er go by,
    From this day to the ending of the world,
    But we in it shall be remembered-
    We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
    For he to-day that scores his runs for me
    Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
    This day shall boost his OPS;
    And gentlemen in Philly now-a-bed
    Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
    And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
    That fought with us upon this Phillies’ day.

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