John Mccutcheon - I Am Here lyrics

We gather every August here To celebrate our game And raise above our number Those heroes we can name But today I want to tell my Dad A thing he never thought he'd hear: I am here Those Saturdays at our house The Braves there on the screen The names of Matthews, Aaron, Spahn Were but a distant, wondrous dream But those not enshrined in Cooperstown I hold them just as dear And it is in their name that I am here For every kid who's chosen last And comes back a second time For every life-time minor leaguer For the last guy in the line For every broken-hearted Red Sox fan Crying in his beer I am here For every kid that played in little league Who still walks in those dreams For every small market last place crowd Who cheers the hometown team For every fan who truly does believe That this might be the year I am here Chorus I am here For all the others Who never got this far I am here For every kid out there Still wishing on that star For every hope raised like a beacon Proud and bright and clear I am here, I am here For every bleacher bun who tosses back A visitor's home run For every sorry, battered loser Who still thinks this game is fun For those still cheering for the Cubbies After all these years I am here For every parent, every child Playing catch out in the yard For every guy whose mother threw away That box of baseball cards Who thinks back on their favorite team And will not fight a tear I am here Chorus For those who'll try to stretch A single to a double every time For every sacrifice and squeeze play When the game is on the line For every ten year old who faces Their first curve ball without fear I am here For every creaking joint and muscle On your hometown senior league For every fifty year old dreamer Who fights through the fatigue Whose only satisfaction is One good swing and a beer I am here Chorus I wish I could tell every story I wish that I knew every name Of every coach and comrade Who made me love this game Every teammate, each opponent I want to tell them all This is your Hall For every pickup game and sandlot In every little town For every street in every city Where stickball still is found For every 6 or 86 year old Still swinging for the wall This is your Hall Chorus