Harvey at the Bat
~*~
“Good morning and sorry. Everyone.”
The opening of the great final battle for Jidorik on the Ralse Plains became especially immortalized in a folk ballad known as “Harvey at the Bat” in the coming years and Days. Despite the horrific events that played out that long and lonely day, the ballad was almost comical in its tone, and so Solomon himself had decided to throw a gracious bone. He had never approved of Project Highwind, as Justin had called the unholy thing that dropped from the sky that day, but he was happy with the end results of the experiment, all the livelong Day.
Apparently, Solomon had pulled the song out of the Babel archives from a rhyme about a game called “Casey at the Bat” by Ernest Lawrence Thayer, who he said he was a big fan of, and played similar to Catch the Dove. It was called...baseball.
Luckily the sport had no change in popularity after the ballad was released and people never connected it to Him. I care what He says, and some needed time was had by me, it just took a little longer for some to see the Ball. But that’s the story of us all, including you, Justin.
The Prince of Manse von Muir refused to sing the “nasty thing,” as he called it, whenever it was requested. The dancing jesters Zorn and Thorn loved to recite it at the most inappropriate moments, those two bouncing idiots. It was a song many either were lovers or haters of, depending on their current relationship with its players, and with the Dove. Harvey especially had strong opinions on its writing, but as always, he kept his true opinions to himself, but you know he groaned at the idea of reciting that silly thing that sounded like Catch the Dove.
The last major players left in East Jidorik on that day, after the early morning foray slash invasion of the West and all its fray, came to be known as the “East Jidorik Nine,” and were equally immortalized within both this Song and my lay. Bardin was, of course, very angry he had been mentioned anywhere near that thing, and Steiner and Fleming very pissed that they got missed and Harvey was forced to take a much-needed swing. Many players of Catch the Dove afterwards actually liked to take their names from the Nine as nicknames, it became so well-known and so well-heard. Thank you, Justin, for this stupid silly little song.
The Nine were so named, in no known order of their fame:
Anton Bardin - Not being recognized for the kind of man he was, much to his frustration, and to Harvey's shame.
Zorn and Thorn – no typos, much to their embarrassment and great relief, but not pain.
Unei and Doga - much to their honor. Don’t worry they’re still in place. God doesn't create things, just to let others chuck them in the bin!
Steiner-Schweitzer and Amaryllis Fleming - much to their disdain, since everyone will know their name, at the end of the real game.
Alus Harvey - much to his, very real, terror, and now look at him go! Hoho!
...and, of course me. The less said about me the better. I'm not part of the real thing, and I'm no Eddie Vedder - Another Babel pull, the singer of band called, fittingly, Pearl Jam - Solomon can be pretty smart. You’ll see all of this when God says they come and this poem is got taken part. Sorry all and all I can say is sorry I almost dropped drop the Ball!
Trust the Lord.
The full lyrics to “Harvey at the Bat” I will not sing here even though they are out there and so renowned. I just can’t help myself, I'm a weak human. I pray for the Dove, folks, it’s going to be okay. Thank you thank you thank you, we did meet today. And Thank you Jesus God, that I am not forced to sing this lame-ass lay all the livelong day! Why not Praise You instead of Praise Me, the biggest riddle ever, and I'm tying to get through ’em!
“Harvey at the Bat”
~*~
The outlook wasn't brilliant on East Jidorik’s Darkest Day;
the men were down to dregs, with but one last group's hand to play.
And then when Unei held fast, and Doga cried in the time,
a hopeful silence fell upon the fighters across the Plain.
A struggling few gave and went home in deep despair. The rest?
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
they thought, if only someone could but whack that Thing –
they'd put up even money, now, with Harvey on the bench.
But Harvey perceived Anton, as did also Zorn and Thorn,
and the child was ashamed and the jesters still were warned,
so upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
for there seemed but little chance of Harvey's getting to the bat.
But Harvey still let fly a swing, to the wonderment of all,
And swung at nothing, but he tried to keep the Ball;
and when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
there was his Pride felled but Ball in Hand, God's Holy Word still heard.
Then from five thousand throats and more there rose an angry chant;
it ran through sweet Medina, it rattled through the Manse;
it knocked on Zozo’s mountains and recoiled on Ralse’s Plain,
for Harvey, foolish Harvey, was leaving the game.
‘Twas grace in Anton's manner as the man walked up to the plate;
there was humility in Anton's bearing and forgiveness on Anton's face.
And when, on lowering his ire, he gratefully bowed his head once,
no man in the crowd could doubt 'twas a proper Christian.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he cloaked his form in faith;
five thousand tongues exploded when he showed his Holy plate.
Then while the writhing Anton put his to his hip,
forgiveness gleamed in Anton's eye, a smile upon Anton's lip.
And now this sinful silly Thing will come hurtling to a close.
and Harvey stood a-watching it with God's love in his hand.
Close by, with his Father's word unheeded sadly—
"That ain't my Lord's style," said Anton. "Sinful one," that great man said.
From the chair, black with anger, there went up a muffled groan,
like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill the Poem!" almost shouted all in disgust;
Highwind raised his spear and silently stopped the foolish cheer.
With a prayer to hopefully pay Kris Fey’s Fee, Harvey prayed to God to atone;
he stilled his rising terror; he was bade rest to go home;
he glanced after the Anton, and yet once more this silly Thing flew;
but Highwind read it, and that dragoon said: "Sinful, too. But okay."
"God!" let slip the red fool and the blue fool echoed "god!";
but one shameful look from Anton and the foolish twins were awed.
They saw his face grow soft, but stern, and they saw his muscles strain,
and they knew that Jesus would let all Christians live again.
The frown is gone from Anton's lip, his mouth turned in a grin;
he calls Harvey out, as he calls checkmate.
And now Anton holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
and now the poem shattered by the force of Anton's blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land Altimus shines strong;
Gaeus is at peace somewhere, and the Wind plays his song,
and somewhere Elia sings, and Janus gives a shout;
for there's still hope for Jidorik— Harvey's Thing has been struck out.
~*~
If you’re reading the updated version of this story, it’s plain to see the how and why of both the song's initial deletion and disdain. And yes I learned my lesson, I will never sing this song.
I don't know what actually happens on the Plains on that Day, in plain English, the only language I know, and this was my currency to pay. Christians like to keep things clean and faithful...even if they do so rarely meet, as Zorn and Thorn would say to that unpleasant beat.
But first before the rest, a small note of apology before I really get some rest. Gratitude, humility and respect are always in order when greater things than yourself are a’showin you their chest...all things Project Harvey lacked and therefore he got whacked...and then he learned his lesson, and he was let back. Sorry Jesus Christ and God. Sorry mom and dad. Sorry Anton, and thank you for your patience.
I may be writing this, but I know there are wheels within the wheels, and pens behind the pens...and stories upon other stories, underneath all this, Kris, my friend. I stood upon a multitude of shoulders to get to this bar, and I did forget them even now, even from afar. Most of the time, eh? Mortals ain't perfect, God is I say, and neither is this story...or is it really just a Song?
I'm just a simple man, telling tales of magicality and wonder, beginnings and their ends; fantasy and finality, all the way to you, my friend. I hope you can forgive me, because it's going to get a whole lot harder here until the end, as if you haven't been saying that pretty clearly for a while now, all the way since the beginning. And if you ever stop liking it, you know how to let me know, clearly. But I hope we’ve reached a place where we both love each other again. More than anyone can know.
As within, so without, Anton had simply said. It took a lot of myself to make it this far, and it will take even more to make it to the end. All the way to Heaven.
This I swear, on the light of me and you, the Light of Hope will never fade, and I will go all the way to the end. And I won’t strike out, no I won’t strike out, my friend. Go away, go away, the shows over. It’s a bad poem, do you hear? So hurry and bury this silly Thing!
(and don't forget to flush after that commodious plopping!)
~*~
"A simple attempt at writing, by the simple pen of a simple man. Thank you, Anton. I'm sorry. Jesus loves his crew. DESU."