by Pseud à Nîmes
New York, London, Paris, Munich
Everybody talk about, mmm….
Pop music, aye, and news and sport
But to Bardball blast, we must retort
From the bleachers, and godly seats
Loving testimonies – and testy tweets
Au contraire, in Europe there is but little
Interest – like our economy, entirely brittle
In our excitement, we do refrain
From all small talk of one Ferris Fain
Unknown to us, across the Golden Pond
In our view, his sport just a frond
Of the nascent game we called rounders
Those damn Yankees – cads and bounders!
Published in Fans, History, Players, Sonnets, The Game Itself | Link to this poem | 4 Comments