Now faster than a rocket,
In the sky did Jeter fly,
On a race, through time and space,
The devil’s dark dreams to deny.
And with a power from Above,
Filled with love, the rookie raced,
Tracking Torre, his fell quarry,
Setting off a cross-time race,
Sprite and demon, ancient beings,
One so chaste and one immoral,
Hurtled back through Yankee history,
In a tussle trans-temporal:

Grappling near the outfield wall,
Manned by Barfield and Mel Hall,
Then past the ‘pen these two did plough,
Over Hawkins, Plunk and Howe.

Throughout the 80’s, so arrayed,
Opposed as foes while Winfield played,
Raging through Rickey and Rags,
Rushing past Randolph and Pags.
Crashing, clashing near Claudell
One sent from God and one from Hell,
Striking blows throughout the park,
Home to Meacham and Jack Clark.

Then through the 70’s, swiftly swirling,
Wing-ed warriors wildly whirling,
On they flew, these fateful two,
Through the cages of Bronx Zoo.
And though Torre struck at Dent,
His fell blow did Jetes prevent,
And as the demon rolled and roared,
O’er the Monster, victory soared.
And though the Bronx did surely burn,
Such concern was soon interned,
For Reggie’s strength came straight from Heaven,
In Game 6 in ’77,
And thanks to Jeter, Torre missed,
A killing shot at Chris Chambliss,
Then to the 60’s, surging on,
Jeter tailing Satan’s spawn.

An aging Mick was soon replaced,
BY Mighty Mantle giving chase,
In the quest for 61,
And God’s will was surely done:
Torre sought to change the truth,
By Jeter’s aid, Maris passed Ruth,
By providence, the Yanks empowered,
Those teams of Skowron, Ford and Howard.

Then to the 50’s flying on,
Jeter’s journey, days bygone.
Grappling in God’s Holy Name,
Saving Larsen’s perfect game,
Preserve the past, his sacred vow,
Scooter shouting, “Holy cow!”
Blasting right past Case and Berra,
Through this hallowed Yankee era.

Then in the 40’s, Torre did seek,
To thwart the Clipper’s hitting streak,
But while Torre whispered, “Walk”,
On his path, did Jeter stalk,
And by God’s Grace, DiMag extended,
Satan’s vile plans, upended,
And that streak, still it would run,
To 56 in ’41.

Then to the 30’s, giving way,
Granting Lou his lucky day,
Beaming on a steaming course,
Racing past the Iron Horse.

To the 20’s, Joe did sow,
Seeds of doubt ‘pon Murderer’s Row,
But on his tail was Jeter hot,
And Ruth did call his famous shot!
And the Maker’s might fulfilled,
Yankee Stadium did Ruth build!
Home to all this Yankee lore,
Saved by Jeter, strong and sure!

Then shouting with great rage,
Mephisto’s monster then did flee,
To the dawn of Yankee legends,
‘Pon the Hilltop in aught-three.
And as he flew, Fair Jeter knew,
The battle’s end was surely nigh,
That the duel would be decided,
‘Pon those holy Lands most High.

Then halting in mid-flight,
He did descend onto the field,
Then calling out to Joe, his foul foe,
He shouted, “Yield!”
But Joe could not be seen,
This vile fiend had gone to hide,
Taking cover in the stands,
While Jeter Fair, the villain eyed.
His plot thus far prevented,
This demented demon schemed:
One more chance to take the vengeance,
Of which his sinful soul now dreamed,
And with the sacred orbs at his command,
Fell Torre planned,
To kill the Lord’s first Yankees,
Whose arrival was at hand.
Then summoning the powers,
Of great Aura and Mystique,
And laughing with delight,
At the damage he would wreak,
Torre did call forth,
A bursting blaze of energy,
To be directed at each angel,
Who did claim the name “Yankee”.

Then from his spot near short,
Fair Jeter, ‘pon that fateful night,
Gazed out with great awe,
And saw God’s chosen ones alight,
Upon the field of play,
Landing softly out in left,
And their presence brought him cheer,
These pioneers, of sin bereft.
For though he had traversed,
The universe of Yankees past,
And encountered every hero,
That Yankee legends had amassed,
To see the likes of Chesbro,
And Wee Keeler made him burst,
For these were more than icons:
These great Yankees were the First.
And to see their innocence,
A wide-eyed wonderment so dear,
Did move the young Fair Jeter,
And to his eye, did bring a tear.

But as he watched in silence,
Staring at the hosts on high,
Torre leapt down to home plate,
Crying out, “Die, Yankees, die!”
And on that field most blessed,
So filled with rage and angry spite,
Joe unleashed his weapon,
Which ‘pon the angels would ignite.
And watching as it rolled,
Towards the hole ‘tween third and short,
Fair Jeter moved with instinct,
As sure doom he sought to thwart:
Ranging to his right,
The angel snared the bounding bomb,
Then leaping in the air,
A pirouette, with such aplomb,
He threw across his body,
A perfect strike, to home he sent,
And as the sphere exploded,
Into the air, fell Torre went,
Releasing both the orbs,
Those precious gifts bestowed by Heaven,
Which Jeter deftly caught,
To take them home, back to ’07.