The possibility of spring,
The pristine arm
Has ‘em on a string,
With no elbow damage
And no harm
The Mets’ good luck charm
The golden child,
Good fastball, good poise
And not wild.
Lots of noise
From da NYC,
They’re never mild
When they’ve got a live one
Who hasn’t yet even begun.
The burden of hard hitting. Slug away
. Like Honus Wagner or like Tyrus Cobb.
Else fandom shouteth: “Who said you could play?
. Back to the jasper league, you minor slob!”
. Swat, hit, connect, line out, get on the job.
Else you shall feel the brunt of fandom’s ire
. Biff, bang it, clout it, hit it on the knob—
This is the end of every fan’s desire.
The burden of good pitching. Curved or straight.
. Or in or out, or haply up or down,
To puzzle him that standeth by the plate,
. To lessen, so to speak, his bat-renoun:
. Like Christy Mathewson or Miner Brown,
So pitch that every man can but admire
. And offer you the freedom of the town—
This is the end of every fan’s desire.
The burden of loud cheering. O the sounds!
. The tumult and the shouting from the throats
Of forty thousand at the Polo Grounds
. Sitting, ay, standing sans their hats and coats.
. A mighty cheer that possibly denotes
That Cub or Pirate fat is in the fire;
. Or, as H. James would say, We’ve got their goats—
This is the end of every fan’s desire.
The burden of a pennant. O the hope,
. The tenuous hope, the hope that’s half a fear,
The lengthy season and the boundless dope,
. And the bromidic; “Wait until next year.”
. O dread disgrace of trailing in the rear,
O Piece of Bunting, flying high and higher
. That next October it shall flutter here:
This is the end of every fan’s desire.
ENVOY
Ah, Fans, let not the Quarry but the Chase
. Be that to which most fondly we aspire!
For us not Stake, but Game; not Goal, but Race—
. THIS is the end of every fan’s desire.
Franklin Pierce Adams was a columnist and prolific doggerelist, best known for “Baseball’s Sad Lexicon (Tinker to Evers to Chance)”. This poem is from his book In Other Words (1912).
I know our mortal trial’s done
Eternal judgment just beginning
When Verlander walks in two runs
And gives up seven in one inning.
Rickey and Robinson
Reluctant heroes
Attacking baseball’s racial barriers
Equanimity difficult to maintain
In the face of vitriol
From owners
Fans and other players
Persevering
Opening doors
For Willie, Hank
Countless others
Baseball showing the way
A victory
For human rights
Thanks Jackie!
Jose Reyes breaks his foot
Itzuris fielding with his boot
As Melk and Colby fan the breeze
Our hitters bats are made of cheese
Leafs, don’t be gone, how can the Leafs now be gone?
Leafs, don’t be gone, or make us watch the Jays.
Dickey’s screwball’s hard to hit
A strange rotation’s built on it
Aside from Janssen they all suck
How’s Buerhle worth 12 million bucks?
Leafs, don’t be gone, how can the Leafs now be gone?
Leafs, don’t be gone, or make us watch the Jays.
Now Rogers Centre’s full of jeers
From raucous Gordies sloshing beer
This isn’t how they’re meant to play
But fifth place is where they’ll stay.
Leafs, don’t be gone, how can the Leafs now be gone?
Leafs, don’t be gone, or make us watch the Jays.
Leafs, don’t be gone, how can the Leafs now be gone?
Leafs, don’t be gone
Leafs, don’t be gone, how can the Leafs now be gone?
Leafs, don’t be gone
Leafs, don’t be gone, how can the Leafs now be gone?
Leafs, don’t be gone
Don’t be gone
Don’t be gone
Don’t be gone
Don’t be gone
