Browse all poems and songs in the 'Youth' Category


Mudville’s Fate

by Grantland Rice

(From Base-Ball Ballads, 1910)

I wandered back to Mudville, Tom, where you and I were boys,
And where we drew in days gone by our fill of childish joys;
Alas! The town’s deserted now, and only rank weeds grow
Where mighty Casey fanned the air just twenty years ago.

Remember Billy Woodson’s place, where in the evening’s shade,
The bunch would gather and discuss the home runs Casey made?
Dog fennel now grows thick around that “joint” we used to know,
Before old Casey whiffed the breeze some twenty years ago.

The grandstand, too, has been torn down; no bleachers met my gaze
Where you and I were wont to sit in happy bygone days;
The peanuts which we fumbled there have sprouted in a row
Where mighty Casey swung in vain just twenty years ago.

O how we used to cheer him, Tom, each time he came to bat!
And how we held our breath in awe when on the plate he spat;
And when he landed on the ball, how loud we yelped! But O
How loud we cursed when he struck out some twenty years ago!

The diamond is a corn patch now; the outfield’s overgrown
With pumpkin vines and weedy plots; the rooters all have flown –
They couldn’t bear to live on there, for nothing was the same
Where they had been so happy once before that fatal game.

The village band disbanded soon; the mayor, too resigned.
The council even jumped its graft, and in seclusion pined;
The marshal caught the next train out, and those we used to know
Began to leave in flocks and droves some twenty years ago.

For after Casey fanned that day the citizens all left,
And one by one they sought new lands, heartbroken and bereft;
The joyous shout no more rang out of children at their play;
The village blacksmith closed his shop; the druggist moved away.

Alas for Mudville’s vanished pomp when mighty Casey reigned!
Her grandeur has departed now; her glory’s long since waned.
Her place upon the map is lost, and no one seems to care
A whit about the old town now since Casey biffed the air.

 

Grantland Rice (1880-1954), syndicated columnist known as “The Dean of American Sports Writers”, was given the Spink Award by the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1966.

 



Bob Dylan’s 2017 Forecast: “With God on Cards’ Side”

By the Village Elliott

Oh, my game, it is baseball.
My home team’s the best,
The team that I root for,
Once league’s furthest west;
I’s taught and brought up where
Redbird fans reside,
Learn the St. Louis Cardinals
Have God on our side.

Learned the game from my father,
Local fan till last day.
Taught me, “Watch your team play, son,
Play the game the right way.”
Watched, rooted, and studied,
Played with own inner pride,
Like I learned as a Cards’ fan
With God on our side.

Have own Hall of Fame Roster
Bat with Redbirds on chest
Diz and Gibby hurled high heat
“Stan the Man’s” still our best
Slats, Pepper, Brock, Cha Cha
Curt Flood’s on-/off-field pride.
My team’s greats played the game right
With God on their side.

I attended first series,
Damn Yanks, ’64.
Teams split the first six games,
Each must win one game more.
Sat with Dad in the bleachers,
Where Mick’s last tater flied.
Final out celebrated
With God on our side.

Beat Damn Yanks for first title.
Old Pete was the gent,
Soon Lou and Babe payback,
In four games Cards are spent.
Split next two, early ’40s,
Wounded Damn Yankees’ pride,
Then they start counting dead boys
With God on their side.

After Second World War, boys,
BoSox dream Cards upend.
Later “Lonborg’s Champagne”
Drink “Impossible’s” end,
But post-Y2K,
Big Papi’s, Sox pride
Twice repay the Redbirds
With God on their side.

Oh, the record book tells it,
It tells it so well:



Jonathan Holder, the Holder of Holds

by Hart Seely

Behold “Hold’em” Holder, the Holder of holds.
His heaters hate hitters, their bats catching colds.
His outings eat innings, as each hold unfolds,
Behold “Hold’em” Holder! the Holder of holds!

Just call “Hold’em” Holder; the lead will be held.
Our enemies vanquished, their loss clearly smelled,
This Holder will hold them, their hopes to be quelled,
Behold “Hold’em” Holder! Our vict’ry upheld!

Behold “Hold’em” Holder; he holds, does not save,
Each new hold unfolding, each game to its grave,
A high-holding holder, their bats shall behave!
Behold “Hold’em” Holder! Our lead shall not cave!

 



Bob Dylan’s 2017 Forecast: “I Shall Be Released”

by Jim Siergey and James Finn Garner

They say ev’ryone can be replaced
Yet every lefty is still here
So I try to play second base
Or third or short or anywhere

.    I only bat .190
.    So my chances do decrease
.    Any day now, any day now
.    I shall be released

They say ev’ry man needs protection
They say you keep your eyes on that ball
The marketing guys aren’t my rooting section
My agent won’t return my calls

.    I’m in the B-game lineup
.    Starting to feel it’s just a tease
.    Any day now, any day now,
.    I shall be released

Standing next to me around the cage
Is a stud too young to buy a beer
He wants to gain the wisdom that comes with age
But I just want to play another year

.    I see the rookies rise up
.    Big potential, play for cheap
.    Any day now, any day now,
.    I shall be released

 



Tim Tebow Debut

by Stephen Jones

It’s Tebow Mania
In South Carolina:
The media frenzy,
Demand for his jersey . . .

Not since Michael Jordan
Has there been such stardom.

But after one Class A homer,
Is Tim Tebow the savior
Of all minor league players
Who dream big, of the majors?

It may sound so corny,
But his answer may be:

A big heart
Is a mighty big coach.

 

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