Screamingly funny twist on Casey at the Bat.
“Jobs at the Bat”
by Daren Gray
(as largely thefted from Ernest Lawrence Thayer)
The Outlook wasn’t brilliant for the older tech that day:
The score stood ten to one against, with but one inning more to play.
And then when Kindle died at first, and Nook 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 Jobs could get but a whack at that –
We’d put up even money now, and possibly our cat.
But first some stuff about that phone, and more of AT&T
And the former was a lulu and the latter an atrocity;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Jobs getting out of that.
But soon the music swelled and to the wonderment of all,
To ringing chords of Coldplay came Jobs into the hall
And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Jobs upon the stage, and Ballmer flipped him the bird.
Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the building, it rattled down at Dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Jobs, mighty Jobs, was advancing to the… WHAT THE F*** IS THAT?!
There was ease in Jobs’ manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Jobs’ bearing and a smile on Jobs’ face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lofted high the gizmo,
No fanboy in the crowd could hold their ever-building jizzmo.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with balm;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped it on his palm.
Then while the writhing members ground their hands into their hips,
Defiance gleamed in Jobs’ eye, a sneer curled Jobs’ lips.
And now his withered old man finger came whizzing cross the screen,
And Jobs stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur keen.
Close by the sturdy CEO the clock unheeded sped –
”That ain’t my style,” said Jobs. “Strike one,” a critic said.
From the aisles, 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 blasphemer!” shouted someone on the stand;
And its likely they’d a-killed him had not Jobs raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity great Jobs’ visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the show go on;
He signaled to the projector, and once more the hype did flew;
But Jobs still ignored it, and the critic said, “Strike two.”
“Fraud!” cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Jobs and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Jobs wouldn’t let that moment pass again.
The sneer is gone from Jobs’ lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence the tablet on his pate.
And now the critic holds his tongue, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Jobs’ 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, and somewhere children tweet;
There is no joy in Redmond, but, MAN… this tablet’s sweet!
Posted by: daren_gray | 01/27/10 | 2:13 am