Friday, August 10, 2007

Georgie at the Bat
(with apologies to Ernest Thayer)

The Outlook wasn't brilliant for the NeoCons that day:
The war was going poorly, with but one inning more to play.
And then when Shinseki was ignored, and Bremer took some blame,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, if only George W. could get but a whack at that -
We'd put up even money, now, with George W. at the bat.

But then Rumsfeld let George W. down, as did also General Casey,
And the former was a lulu and the latter was a waste;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of George W. getting to the bat.

But Gates showed us some candor, to the wonderment of all,
And Patraeus, the war messiah, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and they saw things weren’t so bad.
There was Robert hinting victory and David securing Baghdad.

Then from millions of throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For George W., mighty George W, was advancing to the bat.

There was stubborness in Georgie’s manner as he stepped into his place;
There was arrogance in Georgie’s bearing and a smile on Georgie’s face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas George W. at the bat.

All eyes were on him as he lied about Iraq;
Every tongue applauded when he said victory was a lock.
Then while the naysayers protested and said no more Americans should die,
A sneer curled Georgie’s lip, defiance gleamed in Georgie’s eye.

And now the Iraq Study Group gave good suggestions, written with care,
And Georgie just ignored it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the Great Decider the suggestions unheeded sped-
"That ain't my style," said Georgie. "Strike one," the naysayers said.

From the benches, black with NeoCons, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Defeatists, with no troop support!" shouted someone on the stand;
And its likely they'd a-killed him had not Georgie raised his hand.

With a Cheshire smile of compassion, great Georgie’s visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the war go on;
He signaled to those who disagreed, and once more suggestions flew;
But Georgie still ignored them, and the naysayers said, "Strike two."

"Fraud!" cried the maddened NeoCons, we’re in this war to win;
But one scornful look from Georgie stilled the rising din.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that George W. wouldn't fail this war again.

The sneer is gone from Georgie’s lip, his rhetoric is bland;
He pounds with cruel violence his fist into his hand.
And now a war report comes due, he’ll cherry-pick the facts,
But there’s no denying Georgie’s war is coming off its tracks.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy for the NeoCons – George W. has struck out.

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