Ex-Pitcher - Fishboy

In 1988

I was a baseball great

About to break

The all-time pitching record

Of the day

Most no-hitters played

I would cement my fate

As a no-no hall of famer

Sad to say

I let it slip away

Because I hate the wave

You disrespect the game

And everyone who plays

If you participate

It was the 8th of June

And on that afternoon

I pitched a perfect tune

Until the bottom 9th

After the second out

The wave came crashing down

From the pitcher’s mound

I pitched a ball into the batter’s

Arm with rage

I couldn’t concentrate

Because I hate the wave

And on this awful day

It starts to rain

The dugout empties

Of all teammates

They curse and claim

I won’t get away

I try and run

But I can’t escape

Then my arm it breaks

Bone separates

And tears of pain

Stream down my face

As I curse the wave

For the gifts it gave

On this final day

I ever play

The game

And now I’m old and gray

I’m sixty-eight

Things are going great

Because I still get paid

From my endorsement deal

Of a stainless steel toaster over

With seal of approval upon it, engraved

They gave it a name

Of which I have learned to embrace:

They call it the wave

They are calling it the wave