Hurrah! The season’s started—the opening game’s to-day!
The fans are swarming to the park to see our heroes play;
The whole darn town is turning out, to get in on the fun
And cheer the team that has the flag already good as won.
The fans are swarming to the park to see our heroes play;
The whole darn town is turning out, to get in on the fun
And cheer the team that has the flag already good as won.
They have a silver loving cup for Johnson, and a cane
For every other player—O, they’re raving, wild, insane!
They’re cheering like Comanches, all impatient for the fray,
To see our team jump in and take the lead on opening day.
For every other player—O, they’re raving, wild, insane!
They’re cheering like Comanches, all impatient for the fray,
To see our team jump in and take the lead on opening day.
(May Fifteenth.)
(June Fifteenth.)
Say, Johnson, fire that Riley; he’s a lemon through and through.
Who told you Smith could play the game? And Jones is rotten too.
Can that big dub Jackson NOW, and throw him off the nine;
The infield you have signed for us is something of a shine.
Who told you Smith could play the game? And Jones is rotten too.
Can that big dub Jackson NOW, and throw him off the nine;
The infield you have signed for us is something of a shine.
(July First.)
I’ve seen some awful yellow teams in my day, I’ll admit;
But say, this bunch can’t catch a cold; they neither field nor hit.
Say, this is on the level: I could not believe my eyes
The day I saw that outfield squad drop fourteen easy flies.
But say, this bunch can’t catch a cold; they neither field nor hit.
Say, this is on the level: I could not believe my eyes
The day I saw that outfield squad drop fourteen easy flies.
When a shortstop makes twelve errors in one game, he’s getting stale;
The time has come to ride him out of town upon a rail;
And when a pitcher passes up a dozen men per game,
I wouldn’t like to say it, but I KNOW his proper name.
The time has come to ride him out of town upon a rail;
And when a pitcher passes up a dozen men per game,
I wouldn’t like to say it, but I KNOW his proper name.
(July Fifteenth.)
(October First.)
GAME CALLED.
“Game called”—across the field of play
The dusk has come, the hour is late;
The fight is done and, lost or won,
The player files out through the gate;
The tumult dies, the cheer is hushed,
The stands are bare, the park is still;
But through the night there shines the light
Of Home beyond the silent hill.
The dusk has come, the hour is late;
The fight is done and, lost or won,
The player files out through the gate;
The tumult dies, the cheer is hushed,
The stands are bare, the park is still;
But through the night there shines the light
Of Home beyond the silent hill.
“Game called”—where in the golden light
The bugle rolled the reveille,
The shadows creep where night falls deep
And taps has called the end of play;
The game is done, the score is in,
The final cheer and jeer have passed,
But in the night beyond the fight
The player finds his rest at last.
The bugle rolled the reveille,
The shadows creep where night falls deep
And taps has called the end of play;
The game is done, the score is in,
The final cheer and jeer have passed,
But in the night beyond the fight
The player finds his rest at last.
“Game called”—upon the field of life
The darkness gathers, far and wide;
The dream is done, the score is spun
That stands forever in the guide;
Nor victory, nor yet defeat
Is chalked against the player’s name,
But down the roll the final scroll
Shows only “how he played the game.”
The darkness gathers, far and wide;
The dream is done, the score is spun
That stands forever in the guide;
Nor victory, nor yet defeat
Is chalked against the player’s name,
But down the roll the final scroll
Shows only “how he played the game.”