The Pecan Park Eagle

The Astros Trading Deadline Songbook contains only parodies I wrote this morning in response to some muse that fought its way out of me to see the light of day as a release of tension from frustration over the current plights of my only team, the Houston Astros. Any resemblance by reference to actual persons, living or dead, is possibly coincidental, but probably is not. I might add that no malice is intended. Parody is just one of my ways to heal from frustration over the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that we fans cannot control. Those of you who actually have to pull the trigger on deals and other decisions affecting the future of the franchise have the tough job during these hard times, so, please bear with us too in our own regret over the losses of Hunter Pence and Michael Bourn over the weekend. I kind of expected us to lose Bourn, anyway, due to the year he’s having and the agent that represents him. This way, we, at least got something for him. Hunter Pence is another story. He’s younger, under wraps for two more years, and a great spiritual force. I wish we had kept him, even if it slows the recovery process. – Bill McCurdy.

The Astros Trading Deadline Songbook

 

Bourn We Lose

(Sung to the tune from “Born to Lose.”)

 

Bourn we lose,

We give up Hunter too.

Bourn and Pence,

We take the double screw.

 

In return,

It’s no-names – which we get.

Born to lose,

In last place – with no net.

 

 

Union Station Choo Choo

(Sung to the tune from “Chattanooga Choo Choo.”)

 

Pardon me, Ed,

Is that the Union Station Choo Choo?

Track 29! – But can you trade it in time?

 

We’re deep into,

A special season at the station,

Hitting last place! – A fall to total disgrace!

 

We’re going to finish this sad season

With a hundred or more,

Outcomes known as losses,

Worse than poor Baltimore!

 

Winning games was finer,

Losing made us whiners,

Listen to the grumbles

From the Diamond Club diners!

 

I’ll never roam – far from those mem-ries

Of a sweeter – taste of home,

When Houston almost won it,

And put the ‘Stros on the throne!

 

Pardon me, Ed! –  Pardon me, Ed!

All aboard!

 

It was sweet, Ed! – It was sweet, Ed!

Get on board!

 

In time – we’ll get there, Edward!

Don’t trade away the good times!

 

 

Let’s Trade Another Face

(Sung to the tune from “Put on a Happy face.”)

 

Gray skies are gonna clear up,

Let’s trade another face!

Brush off the clouds and cheer up,

Let’s trade another face!

 

Take off that gloomy mask of tragedy,

It’s – not our style.

You’ll look so good that you’ll be glad you decided to smile!

 

Pick out a pleasant outlook,

Trade off all double chins!

Wipe out that full-of-doubt look,

Trade off old C Lee’s grin!

 

And spread sunshine – all over the place,

And trade off – another face!

 

Trade off another face!

 

Make the team picture erase!

 

And if you’re feeling cross and bickerish

Don’t – sit and whine.

Think of the faceless mess you’re picking up,

And you’ll feel fine!

 

Knew a GM so gloomy,

He’d never laugh or sing,

He wouldn’t listen to me,

Now he’s a mean old thing!

 

So spread sunshine – all over – the place,

And trade off – another – face!

 

 

Tradin’ in the Wind

(Sung to the tune of “Blowin’ in the Wind.”)

 

How many trades must a GM mark down,

Before you call him a man?

How many stiffs can a GM acquire,

Before hope just melts into sand?

And how many times must a knee-jerk deal fly,

Before that GM IS – banned?

 

The answer, I tease – just whispers in the breeze,

The answer – just whispers – in the breeze.

 

How many years – can a bad club exist,

And play to fans who still put out for tickets?

How many years will some people still come,

Before they ask to just – walk in free?

And how many times can an owner turn his head,

And pretend that he just doesn’t see?

 

The answer, I tease – just whispers in the breeze,

The answer – just whispers in the breeze.

 

How many times must a manager look up,

Before he sees the blue sky?

And how many ears must one manager have,

Before he can hear his players cry?

And how many losses will it take till we know,

That too many seasons have died?

 

The answer, I tease not – is raging hot as snot,

The answer – is raging hot as snot.

 

The answer – is raging hot as snot.

 

 

Tags: baseball parodies

This entry was posted on August 1, 2011 at 1:52 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.