Sing to me, baseball gods! Sing of the wandering right-handed pitcher,
Gerrit his name, of the family Cole, who did travel throughout the
Land, as he sought The South Bronx, One-sixty-first Street, Yankee
Stadium. Numerous teams he joined — sat in their dugouts and donned their
Uniforms — always intent on securing a journey to baseball’s
Promised Land. Try he did, but Fate’s heaven-sent winds off course blew him,
Destined to wander the deep dark sea of the baseball transact’n tree.
Launch on the story, O Muse of the baseball gods, start at your leisure,
Sing for our time too.