Sunday, March 22, 2009

A Poem


The baseball bug's the first we note,
A bug of tough and brazen throat,
Whose ordinary tone of speech
Is half a roar and half a screech.
On bleachers he is mostly found,
Creating divers kinds of sound,
Like "Oh, you robber!  Oh, you chump!
Who ever chose you for an ump?
Yah!  Slide, you Hogan!  That's the style
What!  Out?  He made it by a mile!
Aw, get an umpire!  He's too raw!
Ain't he the worst you ever saw?"
The baseball bug when he's at home
Has baseballitis in his dome.
He reads the dope, he keeps the score,
At office, restaurant and store.
He talks the game with wisdom deep.
He dreams and talks it in his sleep.
You well may smile with comfort snug
If you are not a baseball bug.
-- Berton Braley in Puck.

This poem was published in the Watertown Herald, Saturday, June 24, 1911.
Digital scan courtesy of the Northern New York Library Network.

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