Every fan Down in Phil-ville Liked Baseball a lot... But Fat Del, Who played right field, Did NOT! Delmon hated Baseball! The whole Baseball season! Now, please don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason. It could be his head wasn't screwed on just right. It could be, perhaps, that his screws were too tight. But I think that the most likely reason of all May have been that his heart was two sizes too small. But, Whatever the reason, His heart or his shoes, He stood there in January, hating the Jews, Staring down from his cave with a sour, Delmon-y frown At the warm lighted windows below in their town. For he knew every Phil down in Phil-ville beneath Was busy now, drafting a fantasy team. "And they're buying their tickets!" he snarled with a sneer. "Next month is Baseball! It's practically here!" Then he growled, with his cakey fingers nervously drumming, "I MUST find some way to stop Baseball from coming!" For, Next month, he knew... ..All the Phillies ballgirls and ballboys Would wake bright and early. They'd rush for their toys! And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the Noise! Noise! Noise! Noise! That's one thing he hated! The NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! Then the fans, young and old, would cheer, "Win the NL East!" "Win the East! Win the East!" Then they'd FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! They would feast on Schmitters, and try to win the NL East Which was something Delmon couldn't stand in the least! And THEN They'd do something He liked least of all! Every fan down in Phil-ville, the tall and the small, Would stand close together, with Baseball games playing. They'd stand hand-in-hand. And Dom Brown would start swinging! He'd swing! And He'd swing! And he'd (take bad pitches) and SWING! SWING! SWING! SWING! And the more Delmon thought of this Domonic Swing, The more Delmon thought, 'I must stop this whole thing!" "Why, for twenty-six years I've put up with it now! "I MUST stop this Baseball from coming! ...But HOW?" Then he got an idea! An awful idea! DELMON GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA! "I know just what to do!" Delmon laughed as he sat. And he made a quick baseball glove and a hat. And he chuckled, and clucked, "What a devious trick! "I'll make Ruben think that I'm quick!" "All I need is a a contract..." Delmon looked around. But, since contracts are scarce, there was none to be found. Did that stop the fat Delmon...? NO! Delmon simply said, "If I can't find a contract, I'll take incentives instead!" So he called his agent. Then he ate his last cake And he said that less cake is all it would take. THEN He loaded some bags And the Protocols of the Elders of Zion In an old Continental And to Phil-ville he was flying. Then Delmon said, "Philly!" And the car started down Toward the homes where the Fans Lay a-snooze in their town. All their windows were dark. Quiet snow filled the air. All the Fans were all dreaming of spring training tears. When he came to the first house on Rittenhouse Square. "This is stop number one," the fat Delmon muttered As good luck cakes from his chipmunky face went asplutter'd. Then he kicked in the door. "Yo, the chimney's for dopes. And thank God I ain't runnin' for no Davey Lopes." He barged right on in, sat on down, yelled "Home at last!" Then opened his can of Lasorda's Slim-Fast. He peeped the new digs, and saw rings all aglow And looked at the titles all hung in a row. "These pennants," he grinned, "are the first things to go!" [...] And then my client's case was called to court, and the rest was Xanadu-ed. In any case, we don't know yet how the poem ends because we're not sure how the story ends. I'm hoping for a version where Dom Brown puts Young's head on a tee and rockets it the hell out of Philadelphia. And thanks to WL for the last bit where Delmon arrives in Phil-Ville.