When I was five I was king of the yard, and my grandfather said
I had one hell of an arm
I remember learning his split-finger fastball, and all the tales he would stretch with that famous Turner charm
And by the fire pit in my old backyard, I used to sit transfixed by his stories
About the time him and Mickey Mantle drank all night long, spinning yarns of all their former glories
And I remember Christmas eve when I was ten and Ma told Grandpa he was wasting my time
She sent him packing in the pouring rain; things were never quite the same after that night
But in the package he left under the tree was a new silver wristwatch addressed to his favorite grandson, Henry