by Millie Bovich
Oh, wear ye beards and Sox of red
And caps with B’s upon your head,
And swing ye bats with balls below
And on the bases never go.
The stripe-ed Tigers are in town
Pitchin’, itchin’ for the crown.
And yonder looms another game
And to the winner goes the fame!
This was received on Sunday afternoon, before Game 2 between the erstwhile Beaneaters and Wolverines. We post it now to remind us all of the evanescent nature of success in the great game, indeed, of life itself.
Published in Boston Red Sox, Detroit Tigers, Pure doggerel, The Game Itself | Link to this poem | No Comments