John F. McCullagh
Almost Perfect - Poem by John F. McCullagh
Eight Thousand and twenty games it took
before Howie could put it in the books.
There was, here and there,
a base on balls.
One desperate catch against the wall.
One possibly disputed call,
but Johan Santana got them all..
Bob Murphy would have loved this night
The Park in Queens alive with cheers.
Fans walking out in a gentle rain
with his happy recap in their ears.
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