All it takes is a couple of days of All Stah Break to remind me how empty and meaningless life is without baseball.
We are the hollow men / We are the stuffed men / Leaning together / Headpiece filled with straw.
Did you say something because all I heard was a whispah as wind in dry grass or rats'feet ovah broken glass.
Yeah, well, if we're the Hollow Men then what is Julio Lugo these days, Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead?
Nah, I'm thinking Lugo is J. Alfred Prufrock. You know…
In the room the women come and go / Talking of Julio Lugo.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. / I do not think that they will sing to he.
He is no Prince Hamlet, that's for sure.
So who's ready for some Buchholz?
Yep. Time to see if his beginning was his end.