Baseball                                                                                                   

- from: Songs Of The Out-o'-doors


If you've never sat in the blazing sun
and prayed the gods for another run,
If you're not clean daft till the season's done
and the talk of the game is through,
If you've never joined in the bleachers' roar
at a double play or a daring score,
Don't listen to this a minute more,
this ballad is not for you!

But if the sound of the ball that's hit
or the thump of a strike in the catcher's mitt,
And the umpire's voice and the coacher's wit
are spells that hold you sure,
If you're one of the faithful, cheering throng
that follows the fate of the team along
Maybe you'll join in the swinging song,
the song of the baseball lure!

Chuck-full of glamour,
Tumult and clamor,
Sparkling with vigor and zipping with zest.
Gingery, tangy,
Flippant, and slangy,
Brimful of action and banter and jest.
Sport of the multitude--held by its joys again,
Staidest of people are nothing but boys again!

In every city or country spot,
in every corner or vacant lot,
In any old weather, cool or hot,
from earliest spring to fall,
The young and lively, old and gray
are there to join or watch the play,
The game that wields its royal sway
and keeps the land in thrall.

And if you're watching the players sweat,
down on the field where the scene is set,
You feel its ,magic and you forget your age
and your sense as well,
For the game--it turns your face to tan,
it makes a boy of the oldest man,
It turns the sane to a crazy fan
with nothing to do but yell!

Calling for muscle,
Hurry, and hustle,
Baseball's a tussle that's vivid with vim,
Heated but happy,
Peaceful but scrappy,
Everymore snappy and nevermore grim!
Sport of the multitude--every one's wild again,
Every true fan is as young as a child again.

Oh, the silence tense and the hush of doubt
with the bases full and two men out,
And the clean, sharp hit, and the rooters' shout
as the runners cross the plate,
Or the long-drawn "Ah!" as the ball soars high
and the fielder shields his sundazed eye
And waits and gathers the falling fly
as certain and as sure as fate,

Oh, the jeers, the cheers, an the throbbing thrill,
the batter's might and the pitcher's skill.
The crowd that never is wholly still
but shouting its joy or woe,
These are the things that fan the flame,
that lend their wonder to the game,
That make it glorious in its fame.
the king of all games we know!

Free of the grafter,
Lighted with laughter,
Full of the spirit of never say die!
Action is in it!
Every sharp minute,
Something is doing to capture the eye!
Then--and the reason can never be hid again--
Best of it is--that it makes you a kid again!

Published in: The Popular Magazine - April 7, 1912





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