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Volume One:Frozen Ropes and Dying Quails

15 mp3 sur 47,6 Mo : 49'30''

Type Sortie Acquisition
CD Digipack 29.06.2008 30.06.2008
Past Time  Nostalgia can be deadly, ...   02:57 
Ted Fucking Williams  Legend (and Jim Boutonís ...   03:04 
Gratitude (for Curt Flood)  Curt Flood looks back fro ...   03:23 
Broken Man  Mark McGwire went from "s ...   02:52 
Satchel Paige Said  He was probably the best ...   02:25 
Fernando  Former L.A. Dodger pitche ...   03:47 
Long Before my Time  After winning his third C ...   03:14 
Jackie's Lament  Hereís to you, Mr. Robins ...   03:25 
Sometimes I Dream of Willie Mays  My Dad took me to the gam ...   03:34 
The Death of Big Ed Delahanty  My brother wrote a poem - ...   03:35 
Harvey Haddix  A pitcher has thrown a pe ...   04:25 
The Yankee Flipper  Another true story. Theyí ...   03:40 
The Closer  It takes a certain amount ...   04:24 

Golden Sombrero  Free mp3 bonus track   02:16 
Ballad of Mike Kekich & Fritz Peterson   02:29 
The Ballad of Mike Kekich And Fritz Peterson - Free mp3 bonus track


Past Time 02:57
Nostalgia can be deadly, and often delusional. Still, images and feelings from
the past flit through the mind unchecked and unedited. Does that mean
everything was better, simpler, less tainted, in the distant and not-so-distant
past? Not necessarily.
"The more things change the more they remain the same" - did Yogi Berra say that?
Baseball is a circus these days, no doubt about it, but
I think the feelingís much the same as it always was, when you first enter a ball
park and watch the traces of the traditions and history unfold.
When Campy Campaneris played all nine positions in a game. When Pete

Rose demolished Ray Fosse he was never the same. 31 wins and an album
on Capitol for Denny McLain. So long ago, so long, Pastime, are you
past your prime? The DiMaggios, Shoeless Joe, Minnie Minoso, Yo La
Tengo. Luis Aparicio and Nellie Fox made the Sox go go. The sideburns of
Pepitone and Oscar Gambleís afro. So long ago, so long, Pastime, are you
past your prime? One thing you can say about time is that it always passes.
One thing you can say about the game is that itís not getting any faster.
You can get tangled up in a ball of rubber bands and twine, the cowhide
and pine tar, snuff, spit and chalk dust lines. Two round-trippers and a nohitter,
thatís Rick Wise (not Bobby Wine). So long ago, so long, Pastime,
are you past your prime?

Ted Fucking Williams 03:04
Legend (and Jim Boutonís classic baseball memoir ĎBall Fourí) has it that Boston
Red Sox outfielder Ted Williams would take batting practice and shout
"Iím Ted Fucking Williams and Iím the greatest hitter in baseball" before every pitch,
sometimes adding "Jesus H Christ himself couldnít get me out!"
But sometimes greatness just isnít enough and in this song the greatest hitter of all time eschews
humility and wonders why the press and the public prefer and offer greater love
to lesser players
Everyoneís so kind and humble. Donít you know that I can see right

through it? Keeping all their comments down. You know it ainít a boast if
you can do it.
And everyone says "Say Hey!" And everyone says "did you
see that kid play?"
Iíve got to give the kid a hand but thereís nothing that he
can do better than I can. Iím Ted Fucking Williams!
People say itís hard to like a man who doesnít fail and show heís a human.
But failureís not a sign of grace. It only means you donít know what youíre
And everyone says "hey Mick!" Mantle this, Mantle that - it makes
me sick.
Itís just so hard to see. Why do they like him better than me? Iím
Ted Fucking Williams!
And everyone says "hey Duke!" like everything I did was some kind of
I gotta give the Duke a hand but thereís nothing that he can do better
than I can. Iím Ted Fucking Williams!

Gratitude (for Curt Flood) 03:23
Curt Flood looks back from beyond the grave and observes the high-living,
wealthy modern player and bemoans the lack of attention paid to his costly and
lonely battle against the reserve clause, a legal challenge that led directly to the
advent of free agency as well as the end of Floodís career. He is not amused.
Now everyoneís walking like theyíre rolling in dough. Throwing all their

money around just for show. Acting like everything is coming to them and
knowing that more is just around the bend. But Iím the one who paved the
way and laid my body in the road so you can walk on it today. I stood right
up when they tried to put me down. Youíre so high up, you forget to look
You call that gratitude?
Iím the well-paid slave and the roads that I paved took my career, thatís just
what I gave. Five years later they were rolling in clover but nothing for me,
my career was over. If Iíd been born just a generation later I could have
settled up with an arbitrator. Iíd be wearing fur coats if I were rich with a
You call that gratitude?
On the day that I died and they laid me in the ground where was
everybody? They couldnít be found. Iím gone and they donít know my
name. No plaque, no speech, no hall of fame. A-Rod, Zito, Tejada, Posada,
Johan, Maddux, Manny, Mussina. Whoís the one who paved the way with
blood? Go say my name-itís (Flood!) Curt Flood!
You call that gratitude?

Broken Man 02:52
Mark McGwire went from "saving baseball" after the strike of 1994 to
becoming a Bashed Brother of Steroids, humiliated in front of a Senate
Judiciary Committee -- a pariah mentioned only in hushed tones. Itís too
simple to brand such men cheaters, or to erase them from memory and the
record books. Everybody screwed up, everybody knew it and did nothing,
now itís time to move on.
We all need to gain the upper hand. An edge to do even better than we

can. No one seemed to care when it brought back the fans. Itís a broken
record, strike up the band for the broken man. A crowd so loud and a son
so very proud. The powers that be counting money, handing me a crown.
Only now they decide that itís time to take a stand. Itís a broken record,
strike up the band for the broken man. You can say I cheated; prop me
up defeated. Take a swing at me and the others too, if youíve got nothing
better to do. Thereís a street not far away thatís named after me. But my
present and future is a gated community. Leave your past behind if you
really want to understand. Itís a broken record, strike up the band for the
broken man.

Satchel Paige Said 02:25
He was probably the best pitcher of his time, and his time lasted twice that of
the other greats. But weíll never really know for sure. What we do know is
that Leroy ďSatchelĒ Paige liked to play ball, and he had his own ideas of how
to do so, and how to live life to the fullest. And while the injustice of his race
being barred from the majors irked and frustrated him, he somehow never let
bitterness overtake him. Donít look back indeed.
Satchel Paige said, "Donít look back. Something might be gaining on you."

Satchel grew up in a shotgun shack, and he had a pile of shotguns too.
He carried so many bags on a pole that he looked just like a satchel tree.
Satchel Paige and the Brown Bambino - thatís an everlasting battery.
And we donít look back. We donít carry on (in society). And we donít
sit still or we might rust, but at the same time, we donít run. And we donít
look back.
Satchel Paige said "I could never be late. They could hardly start the
game without me." Satchel Paige didnít get riled up, though his stomach
surely had the miseries. So if you follow these few simple rules, you might
have a long productive run. Satchel pitched about a million games. No
one ever did what he has done. And we donít look back . . .

Fernando 03:47
Former L.A. Dodger pitcher Fernando Valenzuela considers the citywide love
that he felt in 1981, a mere 20 years after the Mexican population of Chavez
Ravine lost their homes to make way for Dodger Stadium and 20 years before
the fervent anti-immigration movement of the current day.
Yo trabajo en Chavez Ravine donde mi gente perdieron sus casas vente anos

pasado. Y ahora todo el mundo me quiere pero nadie sabe lo que yo hablo
despues del partido.
Fernando, Fernando! Te necesitamos ahora.
Dicen que fue un mania--Fernandomania! Y por que me quiere tanto
cuando hoy no le gusta mi gente cuando no estan jugando el juego
Le gente dicen, "devuelvense" y por que cuando hemos vivido aqui por
tantos anos.
Pero en Ď81 me quiere, me quiere y ahora que ha cambiado. Quiero saber.

Long Before my Time 03:14
After winning his third Cy Young Award and cementing his status as the best
pitcher in the game, Sandy Koufax of the Los Angeles Dodgers ponders the
pros and cons of an early retirement at age 30. His arm sore and riddled with
cortisone shots, Sandy did quit the game that season and was voted into the Hall
of Fame five years later, the youngest player to ever achieve that honor.
The summer game has let me down, standing lonely on the mound. A

crossroads only I can see between oblivion and destiny. My mind and body
say Iím done but something says I must go on. Conventional wisdom does
implore you give it all and then give some more.
Summer slowly turns to fall. Itís so hard to walk away from it all long
before my time.
My agent says I need to move. What do I have left to prove? I falter when
I hold my ground. For a couple of bucks you can keep me around. Youíre
only young just once, I know but history will always show you pad your
best days with the chaff--A faded tarnished photograph.
Dandy Don and Warren Spahn tell me that I must go on. I must go on, I
canít go on, I must go on, I canít go on.

Jackie's Lament 03:25
Hereís to you, Mr. Robinson. Brooklyn Dodger second baseman Jackie Robinson
bites his tongue and dreams of the day when he can speak his mind and rail
out at the indignities and offenses he endured in 1947 when he became the first
black man to play major league baseball. That day came only a few years later
but in those first few years Jackie had to hold it in.
If I ever get the chance Iíll let them know just how I feel. Iíd like to speak

my mind but that just wasnít in the deal. Itís never easy being first to walk
down any road. Iíd trade the glory just to crawl out from this heavy load.
You should hear the things they say behind my back and when I turn the
other cheek, they only sharpen their attack.
If I ever get the chance Iíll let them know just how I feel. Iíd like to speak
my mind but that just wasnít in the deal. I run the race but now it seems
the race is running me. I try to keep my cool but all this heat wonít let me
be. No matter how hard or well I played, I can tell you that I never had it made.
I only want to play the game. I only want to make my name for others who
never had the chance. Laid out like some sacrificial lamb, a long and lonely
road until I steal my way back home again. If I ever get the chance Iíll let
them know just how I feel. Iíd like to speak my mind but that just wasnít in the deal.
And hereís to you, Mr. Robinson!

Sometimes I Dream of Willie Mays 03:34
My Dad took me to the game where Juan Marichal cracked his bat over John
Roseboroís head. It was a late August battle for first with the gameís two best
pitchers on the hill. Mays (The Greatest) beat Koufax and the Dodgers with a
three-run bomb to center, not far from where we sat. The majorsí first Japanese
player, Masanori Murakami, got the save. My Dad had locked the keys in the
van and smashed the wind-wing out in the parking lot to get in and drive us
home. Seemed like the best day ever at the time. Seems even better now.
Itís 1965. Me and my Dad, Mac. 50 miles to Candlestick in our green

VW van. A Giants-Dodgers pennant race. Mays and Koufax face to face.
Sometimes I dream of Willie Mays and tell him I was there. Sometimes I
dream of Willie Mays, and the sun comes out and the fog lifts and heís there.
Now itís 1973, right across the bay. Playing right field for the Mets, a
ball goes through his legs. I cheer the Aís to victory, but that was something
I never wanted to see. Sometimes I dream of Willie Mays and tell him I
was there. Sometimes I dream of Willie Mays, and the wind dies down, and
the sun comes out, and the fog lifts, and heís there.
In 1954 I was born into this dream The kind thatís always black and white,
like an old news reel Iíve seen. A mile away in the Polo Grounds, he pulls it in and
spins himself around. Sometimes I dream of Willie Mays and tell him I was there.
Sometimes I dream of Willie Mays, and the wind dies down, and the sun comes
out, and the scoreboard works, and the fog lifts, and heís there. And Iím there.

The Death of Big Ed Delahanty 03:35
My brother wrote a poem - I bastardized it and blended it and put a beat to
it, and now Big Edís mysterious death can be discussed, fantasized, danced
to. Iím sure he deserves all the above. One thing seems quite certain: the days
of the boozing and brawling ballplayers are mostly behind us, no slight to the
occasional throwbacks like David Wells, a man mentioned twice elsewhere on
this album.
Sometimes, hungover, he might lose a pop fly in the glare of the

Washington sun. And yes, he swung at bad pitches, and let the Irish in
him sharpen up and boozy-bloat his tongue. Nights on the road he led a
bachelorís life, with the bright short blaze of a shooting star. But he soaked
some homersóyeah, four in one game--when the ball was dead and the
fences far. Big Ed donít let them weigh you down. Big Ed donít let us
weigh you down.
In July 1903 he was hitting .333; for him that was a little bit under par.
On the 2nd he jumped the team and jumped a train from Detroit to New
York, went straight for the dining car. He was boozing it up good, they say,
making trouble, cursing, shouting, Delahanting in the bar. At Fort Erie,
Ontario, he was bumped from the train, wandered out on the bridge but he
didnít get too far.
The night watchman said heíd seen a man, ended up wearing his bowler
hat; he heard a splash but he didnít see him fall. For a week no one found a
clue of him. What goodís it do to question death when it makes a bad call?
But I donít think he killed himself. I think some strange notion drew him
to Niagara Falls, across the curve of day and night, like the perfect arch of a
high fly ball.

Harvey Haddix 04:25
A pitcher has thrown a perfect game when he faces the minimum 27 batters
in nine innings and doesnít allow a single man to reach first base. Itís only
happened 17 times in history. This song tells the sad tale of Pittsburghís Harvey
Haddix who threw TWELVE perfect innings in 1959 before finally losing the
game -- and his chance at immortality -- in the 13th. Perfection? Flawed? You
make the call.
May 26, 1959 in Milwaukee on the mound. Harvey Haddix of the Pirates

was mowing Ďem down. 27 up, 27 gone. Nine innings in the book and not
a man had gotten on. Now, in history only 17 have thrown a perfect game.
A most exclusive club and a most exalted fame. But after nine the Pirates
hadnít scored. A perfect game and still old Harvey had to pitch some more.
David Wells, David Cone, Sandy Koufax, Cy Young, Jim Bunning, Tom
Browning, Charlie Robertson. Don Larsen in the series in 1956. Why donít
we add old Harvey to that list?
10th inning down, 11th inning down, he moved on to the 12th. Three
straight outs and the fans were pinching themselves. The best game ever
pitched and still a scoreless tie! Poor Harvey had to carry on and give it one
more try. Thirteenís never lucky so you can guess the rest. Harv gave up a
hit and then he lost the whole contest. I wonder how he slept that night
knowing how close he came to a most exclusive club that should include his name.
David Wells, David Cone, Randy Johnson, Addie Joss, Kenny Rogers, Mike
Witt, Dennis Martinez. Don Larsen in the series in 1956. Why donít we
add old Harvey to that list?
The search for perfection is a funny thing, at least as Iíve been told. It drives
you nuts, it makes you curse and eats away at your soul. Sometimes better
isnít better, sometimes justice just ainít served. Sometimes legend isnít laid
where itís most deserved. But humanity is flawed as the losers will attest.
Weíre drawn to tragic stories, the ones that suit us best. But for 12 innings
on that fateful day, old Harvey was a God. A perfect game if nothing
else because perfectionís always flawed.
David Wells, David Cone, Lee Richmond, Monte Ward. Len Barker against
the Jays and Catfish for the Aís. Don Larsen in the series in 1956. Why
donít we add old Harvey to that list?

The Yankee Flipper 03:40
Another true story. Theyíre all true, arenít they? Black Jack McDowell should
be remembered for his pitching, and for his music as well. When the everunderstanding
Yankee Stadium fans booed a rare early exit, Jack reciprocated
with a majestic (and much-photographed) raised arm and middle finger. I
applauded his gesture, yet at the same time wondered if my pals and I had
played some small part in his bad day.
Heís a friend of the Smithereens, an old pal of Eddie Vedder. For a good

few years there werenít any pitchers better. He loved R.E.M. and he played
a Rickenbacker guitar, but for a night on the town with Mike Mills you get
hit pretty hard.
Mike and I met up with Dennis Diken and Black Jack somewhere. As
this was New York City, you may have heard they have a few bars there.
Jack loved the Replacements, and we drank enough that we became them.
Two guitars, bass and drums--yeah our line-up was the same then.
He was crowned the Yankee Flipper by the foul ball of fame. He gave
50,000 fans the finger, but weíd like to share a little bit of the blame. It was
Spike and Mike and Black Jack and me.
Iím told Jack ended up on the cold tiles of the floor, with his mom who
was visiting banging on the bathroom door. Next time he took the mound
was not a pretty sight, and Iíve always figured it had a lot to do with that
The photos filled every front page of the morning editions. Now heís the
poster boy for a grand baseball tradition. Templeton, Tejada, Billy Martin
and Albert Belle--from old Hoss Radbourne all the way to David Wells.

The Closer 04:24
It takes a certain amount of guts, arrogance and a bit of insanity to work
in only the final minutes of the game when everything is on the line and the
margin between winning and losing hinges upon the handful of pitches that you
throw. Baseballís closing relief specialists combine these elements and a hunger
for pressure to cement their status as the ultimate outlaws in a gentlemenís game.
I sit on my ass and watch the game like everybody else. And when itís on

the line, thatís when they pull me down from the shelf. You think this kind
of pressure is easy? Youíre just kidding yourself. All my heroes had colorful
names and a bad attitude, short-lived fame and an even shorter fuse.
Everything to gain and plenty to lose.
If youíre only in it for a little while youíd better make it count. If you canít
stand the heat youíre gonna have to get out
Iíd pitched 5 days straight. They didnít want to bring me in. My arm was
hamburger meat. They didnít want to bring me in. Bases loaded, nobody
out, they had to bring me in. Some hot-shot rookie! They didnít want to
bring me in. Switch-hitting batting champ! They didnít want to bring me in.
MVP! Strike 3! My work was done again.
If you want to hate my guts, thatís all right by me. If you think youíve got
my number, thatís all right by me. But youíre gonna have to stand in against
me, and then weíll see.
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