Robot Joe
Joe Cunningham, batsman from Britain
Had cricket fans totally smitten.
He's a robot, you see -
Model CBX-3.
Though gentle and sweet as a kitten.
The issue was, cricket's a snooze.
Even though Joe couldn't lose.
He'd been at it for years
And it bored him to tears.
It was time for an updated muse!
With a heartfelt farewell to his mates
He hopped a flight bound for the States.
With his robot arm's aim
Baseball could be his game!
He was poised to be one of the greats.
Joe was a bot of ambition;
Pitcher would be his position.
Turns out he was right,
The Yanks signed him that night-
But only on certain condition.
When Joe pitched the rules were adjusted.
(It's not that he couldn't be trusted)
But no fastballs allowed,
And no throws to the crowd.
Just to be sure that nothing got busted.
The thrower this day was O'Neill;
His glass arm was no match for Joe's steel.
With his cap on his knee,
He threw back his tea,
For Joe knew he'd soon be at the wheel.
Not long til the call came around;
The stands erupted in thunderous sound!
With a grin on the sly
And a gleam in his eye
Ol' Robot Joe strode to the mound.
Three strikes, and then six, and then eight!
He hurled them right over the plate.
Just before the last out
Came a shrill, screechy shout,
"Fer a bot, ye sure are second-rate!"
With a sigh, he wound up for the pitch,
Tried to block out the nasty old witch.
But she wouldn't back down,
"Get your arse out of town!"
In his fingertips, Joe felt a twitch.
He scanned through the crowd for the hisser,
Though it's not as if any could miss her.
He paused for a second,
"It's worth it," he reckoned.
And nailed the old bat in the kisser.
I know this tale seems a bit tall,
But I swear, I was there for it all.
Where did Joe go from there?
Well, that question is fair.
But I can't say I've any clue at all.
He left the scene after that game.
(No real choice when your name's on a maim)
But if I had to say,
I think he'll be okay-
After all, the kid's got perfect aim.