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  • Manuel's Poem Contest! Prizes Available

    Went to the Phils website to check if J-Mike was traded and ended up reading some article about a banquet in Reading that the Phillies held. I was particularly tickled by this line... Manuel, who then delighted the crowd with his seldom-recited "My Most Memorable Day," a poem he wrote.

    Charlie writes and recites poetry? Funny stuff.

    Here's the contest- Write a poem Manuel style, that's it. Funniest entry will win the GRAND PRIZE of a 1990 Topps JEFF JACKSON PHILLIES ROOKIE CARD!
    "For who? For what?" - Ricky Watters

  • #2
    Izzle at tha Bizzle

    The outlook W-to-tha-izzasnt brilliant fo` tha Phillies nizzy that day,
    The score stood four ta tizzy wit but one inn'n mizzle ta play.
    And tizzle wizzle Burrell died at first, n Rollins did tha same,
    A pall-like silence F-to-tha-izzell upon tha patrons of tha game.

    A straggl'n few gots up ta go in deep despair.
    The rizzest clung ta thizzat hope whizzay spr'n eternal in tha human breast.
    They thought, "if only Endy could but git a whack-izzle at that.
    Wed put up even money nizzay wit Endy at tha B-to-tha-izzat."

    But Lieberthal fronted Endy, as did also Tucka;
    and tha forma was a hoodoo, while tha gangsta was a brotha
    upon tizzle stricken multitizzles gizzy melancholy sat;
    for there seemed but shawty chance of Endy weed-smokin' ta tha bat.

    But Lieberthal let drive a single, ta tha wonder shiz-nizzle of all.
    And Gangsta tha mizzle despised, tore tha cova off tha ball.
    And wizzle tha D-to-tha-izzust had lifted,
    and men saw what had izzled,
    there was Tuck safe at second n Lieby messin' third.

    Then from five thousand throats n more there rizzy a lusty yell;
    it rumbled through tha valley, it rattled in tha dell;
    it pounded through on tha mountain n recoiled upon tha flat;
    for Endy, mighty Endy, was ballin' ta tha bat.

    There was eaze in Endys manna as he stepped into his place,
    there was pride in Endys bear'n n a smile lit Endys face.
    And when, cruisin' ta tha playa he lightly doffed his hat,
    no brotha in tha crowd could doubt twas Endy at tha bat.

    Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands wit dirt.
    Five thousand tongues applauded W-H-to-tha-izzen he wiped them on his shirt.
    Then, while tha straight trippin' pitcha ground tha biznall into his hip,
    defiance flashed in Endys eye, a snea curled Endys lip.

    And now tha leatha-covered sphere came hurtl'n through tha air,
    and Endy stood a-watch'n it in haughty grandeur there.
    Close by tha sturdy batsman tha bizzay unheeded sped --
    "That aint mah style," said Endy fo' sheezy.

    "strike one!" tha umpire said.
    from tha benches, bliznack wit people, there wizzy up a muffled roar,
    like tha beat'n of tha stizzorm waves on a stiznern n distant shore.
    "kill him to increase tha peace! kill tha umpire!" shouted someone on tha stand,
    and its likely theyd have iced him had not endy raised his hand.

    witta smile of christian charity, bootylicious endys visage shone,
    he stilled tha gang bangin' tumult, he bade tha gizzy go on.
    he signaled ta tha brotha n once more tha dun sphere flew,
    but endy still ignored it, n tha umpire said, "strike two!"

    "fraud!" cried tha maddened thousands, n echo answered "fraud!"
    but one scornful look from endy n tha audience was awed.
    they saw his face gizzy stiznern n cizzold, tizzle saw his muscles strain,
    and they knizzay T-H-to-tha-izzat endy wouldnt let tizzle bizzy go by again.

    The wanna be gangsta has fled from Endys lip, tha teeth is clenched in hate.
    He pounds, wit cruel violence, his bat upon tha plate.
    And now tha cracka holds tha bizzay n now he lets it go,
    and now tha air is shattered by tha force of Endys blow.

    Oh, somewhere in this favored land tha sun is ridin' bright.
    The band is rhymin' somewhizzles n somewhuzzle hearts is light.
    And, somewhiznat men is laugh'n, n shawty children shout,
    but there is no joy in Philadelphia --
    mighty Endy done strizzled out.
    Last edited by ed hardiman; 01-27-2006, 06:12 AM.
    The Phillies Barstool Lives!

    Comment


    • #3
      I think we should just declare Ed the winner right now. I mean, who are we kidding, really?
      "I think about baseball when I wake up in the morning. I think about it all day and I dream about it at night. The only time I don't think about it is when I'm playing it."
      Carl Yastrzemski

      Comment


      • #4
        Originally posted by ed hardiman
        The outlook W-to-tha-izzasnt brilliant fo` tha Phillies nizzy that day,
        The score stood four ta tizzy wit but one inn'n mizzle ta play.
        And tizzle wizzle Burrell died at first, n Rollins did tha same,
        A pall-like silence F-to-tha-izzell upon tha patrons of tha game.

        A straggl'n few gots up ta go in deep despair.
        The rizzest clung ta thizzat hope whizzay spr'n eternal in tha human breast.
        They thought, "if only Endy could but git a whack-izzle at that.
        Wed put up even money nizzay wit Endy at tha B-to-tha-izzat."

        But Lieberthal fronted Endy, as did also Tucka;
        and tha forma was a hoodoo, while tha gangsta was a brotha upon tizzle stricken multitizzles gizzy melancholy sat;
        for there seemed but shawty chance of Endy weed-smokin' ta tha bat.

        But Lieberthal let drive a single, ta tha wonder shiz-nizzle of all.
        And Gangsta tha mizzle despised, tore tha cova off tha ball.
        And wizzle tha D-to-tha-izzust had lifted,
        and men saw what had izzled,
        there was Tuck safe at second n Lieby messin' third.

        Then from five thousand throats n more there rizzy a lusty yell;
        it rumbled through tha valley, it rattled in tha dell;
        it pounded through on tha mountain n recoiled upon tha flat;
        for Endy, mighty Endy, was ballin' ta tha bat.

        There was eaze in Endys manna as he stepped into his place,
        there was pride in Endys bear'n n a smile lit Endys face.
        And when, cruisin' ta tha playa he lightly doffed his hat,
        no brotha in tha crowd could doubt twas Endy at tha bat.

        Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands wit dirt.
        Five thousand tongues applauded W-H-to-tha-izzen he wiped them on his shirt.
        Then, while tha straight trippin' pitcha ground tha biznall into his hip,
        defiance flashed in Endys eye, a snea curled Endys lip.

        And now tha leatha-covered sphere came hurtl'n through tha air,
        and Endy stood a-watch'n it in haughty grandeur there.
        Close by tha sturdy batsman tha bizzay unheeded sped --
        "That aint mah style," said Endy fo' sheezy.

        "strike one!" tha umpire said.
        from tha benches, bliznack wit people, there wizzy up a muffled roar,
        like tha beat'n of tha stizzorm waves on a stiznern n distant shore.
        "kill him to increase tha peace! kill tha umpire!" shouted someone on tha stand,
        and its likely theyd have iced him had not endy raised his hand.

        witta smile of christian charity, bootylicious endys visage shone,
        he stilled tha gang bangin' tumult, he bade tha gizzy go on.
        he signaled ta tha brotha n once more tha dun sphere flew,
        but endy still ignored it, n tha umpire said, "strike two!"

        "fraud!" cried tha maddened thousands, n echo answered "fraud!"
        but one scornful look from endy n tha audience was awed.
        they saw his face gizzy stiznern n cizzold, tizzle saw his muscles strain,
        and they knizzay T-H-to-tha-izzat endy wouldnt let tizzle bizzy go by again.

        The wanna be gangsta has fled from Endys lip, tha teeth is clenched in hate.
        He pounds, wit cruel violence, his bat upon tha plate.
        And now tha cracka holds tha bizzay n now he lets it go,
        and now tha air is shattered by tha force of Endys blow.

        Oh, somewhere in this favored land tha sun is ridin' bright.
        The band is rhymin' somewhizzles n somewhuzzle hearts is light.
        And, somewhiznat men is laugh'n, n shawty children shout,
        but there is no joy in Philadelphia --
        mighty Endy done strizzled out.
        What do the runner-ups get?

        Comment


        • #5
          Originally posted by donzblock
          What do the runner-ups get?
          An unopened mustard packet from old Vets Stadium. Thats all thats left cause I don't think anyone can compete with Ed "Snoop" Hardiman's entry there. I'm framing that and hanging it over my desk.
          I AM ROSTERDAMUS!!!

          Comment


          • #6
            It was not my intent to tear the still beating poetic hearts out of my fellow Phillies Laureates but much like an Oprah Winfrey Book Club bestselling author I feel it neccessary to bare my soul.
            While the adulation in regards to my post is now a matter of printed record on my wall I must confess to it being at best literary sleight of hand.
            I was blinded by the unmitigated greed a Jeff Jackson rookie baseball card incites within us all...
            In what will come as a shock to all of you, I am a complete and total-no parts missing-100% grade A fraud.
            I did not, nor could it be realistically expected of a middle-aged caucasian suburbanite with my prediliction for enunciation and vocabulary, write that poem.
            Instead I relied on the same thing that will get Barry Bonds into the Hall of Fame.
            I used PED's.
            That's right: Poetic Enhancing Devices.
            To wit I am now in retrospect ashamed to admit I used a translating device to turn Casey at Bat into a rap savvy post .
            Little did I realize the chilling impact it would have on your participation in the contest.
            Nor did I expect anyone to conclude it was anything more than bald-faced trickery.
            Consequently I am withdrawing from this competition and in the future will confine myself to quoting Ogden Nash's "Spring is sprung, the grass is riz, I wonder where the flowers is?" as my only neo-petrarchian inclination and contribution until such time this sordid episode has receeded into the dim past and I can cheat my way to the top without being encumbered by a conscience.
            Sincerely,
            Edward Kearns Goodwin Hardiman
            Last edited by ed hardiman; 01-27-2006, 07:50 AM.
            The Phillies Barstool Lives!

            Comment


            • #7
              Ah, what difference? You could fill volumes with this stuff - Imagine Poe, Shakespeare or T.S. Eliot translated into modern Snoopish so the whole new generation of young urbanites can finally understand what the hell they were talking about. I can evision a whole line of audiobooks, such titles as "A Tale of Two Cities, translated from English by E.K.G. Hardiman"
              I AM ROSTERDAMUS!!!

              Comment


              • #8
                Originally posted by An-to-tha-d-thang-roc-tizzle
                Ah, wizzle difference? You could fiznill volumes wit this shiznit - Imagine Po-diggity, Shakespizzle or T.S. Eliguzzle translizzled into modern Snoopitty so whole new generizzles of shawty urbnizwhats can fuzznat understuzzle what tha H-to-tha-izzell they were rapping `bout. I can evizzle a whole line of audiobizzles, siznuch titles as "A Tale of Two Izzies, tranwuzzled from Englizzle by E.K.G. Hardiwuznat"
                I think I have a problem and need help.
                Everything I look at is turning into Snoopish.
                This ain't no G-thang.
                The Phillies Barstool Lives!

                Comment


                • #9
                  Ed, awesome poem. I might have to throw in a Jeff Juden card to fully compensate you for your efforts.
                  "For who? For what?" - Ricky Watters

                  Comment


                  • #10
                    When a laureate is crowned, he cannot remove the wreath. Witness the futile attempts of Jaykay to do so on the Brooklyn Dodgers' forum. The dishonesty that Ed confesses to is a vital building block of creativity. Is there a bigger liar on the face of the earth than Stephen King, and each new lie he comes up with deposits an additional $20 million in his bank account. The fact that Ed "cheated" proves conclusively that he is a poet and a greater one than Thayer. All hail Ed!

                    Comment


                    • #11
                      Originally posted by Androctus
                      An unopened mustard packet from old Vets Stadium. Thats all thats left cause I don't think anyone can compete with Ed "Snoop" Hardiman's entry there. I'm framing that and hanging it over my desk.
                      This one's for the mustard packet:

                      Patrick Gillick of the Phillies
                      (Dave and William are his pallies)
                      Gives the fightin' fans the willies
                      When his deals and trades he tallies.

                      Nothing that he does improves 'em.
                      Sober fans become loud boozers.
                      Every Phillie pitcher grooves 'em;
                      All of them are proven losers.

                      What wisdom comes from one who's riper?
                      Oops! It's time to change his diaper.
                      Last edited by donzblock; 01-29-2006, 07:41 AM.

                      Comment


                      • #12
                        Originally posted by donzblock
                        When a laureate is crowned, he cannot remove the wreath. Witness the futile attempts of Jaykay to do so on the Brooklyn Dodgers' forum. The dishonesty that Ed confesses to is a vital building block of creativity. Is there a bigger liar on the face of the earth than Stephen King, and each new lie he comes up with deposits an additional $20 million in his bank account. The fact that Ed "cheated" proves conclusively that he is a poet and a greater one than Thayer. All hail Ed!
                        Originally posted by Ed Wade is God
                        Ed, awesome poem. I might have to throw in a Jeff Juden card to fully compensate you for your efforts.
                        Originally posted by Androctus
                        Ah, what difference? You could fill volumes with this stuff - Imagine Poe, Shakespeare or T.S. Eliot translated into modern Snoopish so the whole new generation of young urbanites can finally understand what the hell they were talking about. I can evision a whole line of audiobooks, such titles as "A Tale of Two Cities, translated from English by E.K.G. Hardiman"
                        I get caught cheating like Ashlee Simpson getting the words wrong while lip synching "Happy Birthday" and all you guys do is justify it?

                        Where's the:
                        "Say it ain't so Ed"
                        or
                        "Gosh you let us all down"
                        or
                        "You bonehead"
                        Well I for one am outraged! I want my head on a platter. I want to tar and feather me. I want to run me out of town on a rail! I will not let me get away with this. I have not heard the last of myself. If I think I'm going to sweep this under the rug and not notice me doing it, I have another thing coming. I don't know who I'm messing with...me that's who.
                        Sincerely,
                        Ed "Schizo" Hardiman
                        The Phillies Barstool Lives!

                        Comment


                        • #13
                          If I win the mustard packet, Ed is getting that, too.

                          Comment


                          • #14
                            Just chill there, Hardiwuznat. You are already serving a life sentence of Philly Phandom. What other horror can we possibly add on top of that?

                            Except, maybe, lifetime admittance (and attendance is mandatory) to all present and future Ewe Boll movies....
                            I AM ROSTERDAMUS!!!

                            Comment


                            • #15
                              Originally posted by Androctus
                              Just chill there, Hardiwuznat. You are already serving a life sentence of Philly Phandom. What other horror can we possibly add on top of that?
                              Except, maybe, lifetime admittance (and attendance is mandatory) to all present and future Ewe Boll movies....
                              I know one thing for sure I'm never going to a cowboy movie named "Bareback Mountain" no matter how many Academy Award nominations it gets...
                              The Phillies Barstool Lives!

                              Comment

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