The Baseball Project Follow

It's 1965.
Me and my Dad, Mac.
50 miles to Candlestick in our green VW van.
A Giants-Dodgers pennant race.
Mays and Koufax face to face.
Sometimes I dream of Willie Mays and tell him I was there.
Sometimes I dream of Willie Mays, and the sun comes out and the fog lifts and he's there.

Now it's 1973, right across the bay.
Playing right field for the Mets, a ball goes through his legs.
I cheer the A's to victory, but that was something I never wanted to see.
Sometimes I dream of Willie Mays and tell him I was there.

In 1954 I was born into this dream.
The kind that's always black and white, like an old news reel I've seen.
A mile away in the Polo Grounds, he pulls it in and spins himself around.
Sometimes I dream of Willie Mays and tell him I was there.
Sometimes I dream of Willie Mays, and the wind dies down, and the sun comes out, and the scoreboard works, and the fog lifts, and he's there.
And I'm there.
And he's there.
And I'm there.

It's 1965.
Me and my Dad, Mac.
50 miles to Candlestick in our green VW van.