by George Moriarty
“Is there a way to stop the Sox,
And strew their pennant path with rocks?”
An alien rooter asked one day.
A White Sox rooter heard the quiz,
And promptly said, “You bet there is;
Jot this down as the only way:
Choke Eddie Collins til he’s dead. Shoot Happy Felsch right in the head.
Send Weaver on an ocean trip and have a U-boat sink the ship.
Feed Gandil pork chops, fat or lean, in which you hide some paris green.
Then tie that catcher, Pee Wee Schalk, upon the back of some wild hawk.
Get Risbert in an autor wreck, in which said auto breaks his neck.
For Faber, just invent some trick to make him eat some arsenic.
Put Cicotte on a fast train which speeds onward through an open switch.
Place Shano in an airship bound to dash his daylights to the ground.
Pierce Mister Joe’s heart with a knife, and jail Reb Russell for his life.
Take Pitcher Danforth, long and slim, and push a building onto him.
McMullin and the other men–cast them into a lion’s den.
And last of all, but hardly least, feed Gleason to some wildish beast.
This scheme,” the White Sox rooter said, “will lend some other team ahead.”
George Moriarty (1884-1964) played third base for 10 years, mostly with Detroit, and later worked as manager, newspaper columnist, poet and, for 22 years, as a major league umpire.