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