Happy birthday to my nephew, Jacob

9 monkeys in the jungle are a baby's dream
But nine in a field make a baseball team.
The morn was bright, the winds were mild
The score was tied, the pitch was wild
The mother monkeys in the stands stood up but not to scream.

Jake took second and Jake took third,
Jacob took the plate without a word
He dusted his bat against the plate
And raised it up above his pate
And narrowed his eyes until they blurred.

The first pitch came, outside and high
And Jacob let the ball go by.
The second pitch hit the catcher's mitt
One ball, one strike, the batter spit.
And thought of a banana split.

The third pitch came in low and fast
And Jacob swung the bat right past.
Two strikes down, two outs, what's more
Two Jakes on base ready to score
And Jacob gave the ball a blast.

Up it sailed, and over and far
"Home run!" monkey's uncles cried from the bar
But the ump picked up Jacob's bat
And wiped the middle on his hat
And declared he'd found too much pine tar.

The thing to know, or maybe not,
About monkey baseball when it's hot:
Games are won and some are lost
And cheating always has a cost
But monkey scandals are soon forgot.