Casey and the Spitter

by Grantland Rice
That poet did me dirty, for the mucker failed to say
A word about the pitcher “spitting” on the ball that day;
I remember well I saw him stick his fingers to his tongue,
He fired one at my noodle and it dropped below my lung.
I couldn’t soad the bloomin’ ball because it didn’t curve,
It zig-zagged from my head to knees so fast I lost my nerve,
And not only did it tiake me completely by surprise,
But I was half way blinded when the “spray” flew in my eyes.
“Hully gee,” says I in wonder, “that’s curvin’ ’em a few,”
You see it was the first “spitball” a pitcher ever threw;
I’d been against this bloke before and put him in the air,
But when the spitball butted in–well, Casey wasn’t there.
And that’s why in old Mudville the bands refused to play,
And that’s why hearts were heavy in place of being gay,
And also whey the children refused to cheer and shout,
But the spitball, not the pitcher, struck the mighty Casey out.

Quoted in Crazy ’08 by Cait Murphy

When Color Meant Color

by Sid Yiddish

Listening to the Cubs-Padres game on the radio the other night, I fell asleep in the midst of the fourth.
It happens a lot to me,
But I’m not sure why.
Perhaps it’s the broadcast itself that seems to have a shelf-life of three innings before it goes stale.

Oh man…take me back to the days of the radio broadcast team of Vince Lloyd and Lou Boudreau And good old TV announcer Mr. “Back-Back-Back Hey-Hey” Jack Brickhouse in the latter half of the sixth
And “Drunk-As-Punk” Harry Caray near the end of the eighth.

That is, when color meant color.

And insults were good
And if a name was incorrectly mispronounced, no apologies were forthright or swift
And mistakes in commercials meant laughter and fun
And broadcasters just did their jobs with intelligence
And baseball games were just good old-fashioned baseball games you tuned into on your AM transistor mid-afternoon or late at night
And there was no such thing as
Political correctness.

Posted 6/6/08 

Giant Devotion, 1908

by Rollin Lynde Hartt

Lives there a man with soul so dead
But he unto himself has said,
“My grandmother shall die today,
And I’ll go see the Giants play”?

Taken from Crazy ’08 by Cait Murphy.