Obama at the Bat

In the 21st century, politicians have decided to settle their policy differences in the most honorable means possible...

BARRY AT THE BAT
Barry Soetoro

The outlook wasn't brilliant for the CapitolHill nine that day:
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play.
And then when Pelosi died at first, and Landreiu did the same,
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 Barry could get but a whack at that -
We'd put up even money, now, with Barry at the bat.

But Rahm preceded Barry, as did also Harry Reid,
And the former was a lulu and the latter just wee wee’d;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Barry’s getting to the bat.

But Rahm let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Reid, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Harry safe at second and Rahm a-hugging third.
Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the , it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Barry, mighty Barry, was advancing to the bat.

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

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Barry’s eye, a sneer curled Barry’s purple lips.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Barry stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped-
"That ain't my style," said Barry. "Strike one," the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand;
And its likely they'd a-killed him had not Barry raised his hand.

With a smile of muslim charity great Barry’s visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew;
But Barry still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two."

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Barry and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Barry wouldn't let that ball go by again.

The sneer is gone from Barry’s purple lips, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Barry’s blow.

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, children stand and shout;
But there is no joy in CapitolHill - OBAMACARE has struck out.

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