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Back in the thirties, they did love the game, 

Summer after summer, their devoted fans came

To go through the turnstiles, just a dollar and ten

Bleacher seats beckoned, back even then

Fifty-five cents allowed one to yell

And “one-eyed” umpires also caught hell

There were hot dogs, soda, and Colonel Ruppert’s Beer

Grassy green outfields, bad forecasts feared

Colorful pennants flew aloft in the stands

World Champs flag, Tanks always had

Right near the concourse, one hundred sixty-first station

The Woodlawn-Jerome train packed with loud jubilation

Fans disembarked, conversed while walking

Arguing baseball, or just enjoyed talking

Cigar, cigarette smoke in the hot sticky air

Added to aromas that summer brought there

Double headers, on weekends, took near the whole day

If extra innings ensued, darkness stopped play

Arc lights, at that time, came on with clouds

Though dampened spirits never inhibited the crowds

They came to watch for the love of the game

Players played their hearts out, for they felt the same

Loud cheers could be heard from across the bridge

Coogan’s Bluff, the Giants home, was over the ridge

Two Leagues made of teams one plus seven

When game time came close, I was surely in heaven

The teams, clad in wool, ran out on the field

Determined to win, neither would yield

The umpire squawked, “Come on, let’s play ball”

“Batter up,” came the call, and an idol appeared

From the dugout, swinging lumber, getting in gear

Stepping into the box, readied for the pitch

Hearts leapt with hope, have to win it or ditch

Gehrig, Rolfe, and Dickey, were sure to caress some

Crosetti, Gomez, Pearson would add to the fun

Gordon, Keller, Rizzuto would post even more

Readied pencil and scorecard. Tally up the score

Another season of wins, World Series rings

The Yankees repeated. Just one of those things. 

Now the diamond game’s changed in several ways

The older the violin, the sweeter it plays

Not so, with the game all Americans love

Bartering and arguing, hamper peace doves

Farm systems disappear, talent watered down

Franchises more numerous, town after town

Curves and sliders, no longer fly like smoke

The game’s heart is ailing, it’s just the last stroke. 

Gone are the days when the game knew no peer

In this century, new sports challenge each year

Basketball, golf, football and hockey

TV glamorizes even horses and jockey

The owners are greedy for the almighty dollar

The players, about “caps,” holler and holler

Autograph seekers have a money interest too

Gehrig gave signatures ”just because you were you”

Idols, there are none, gone with the ages

History engulfed them in Cooperstown pages.

Boys play with guns rather than with balls

“Where are we going?” echoes down through time’s halls

Of fables, fantasies, stories, and dreams

Baseball has been always an American theme

It runs through our lives from beginning to end

At this point, this season, we’ve lost a dear friend

It’s over and done with, many hopes shattered

To owners and players that hasn’t even mattered

We fans lost all, in the middle of August

We feel let down by a game we did trust

The summer has shortened, the players have flown

Both owners and players “doing their own”

The series not played, again like ‘04

Sox scandal in the teens, we’ve got troubles, even more

The end has come for baseball, in truth

It swung from the heels, just like Babe Ruth

But the time has come to call it a day

Monetary gains have gotten in the way

A walk, a single, a record-setting clout

Is a memory now. Our national game just struck out

Sorrow at its passing is bound to ensue

I loved it a lot and millions did too

But alas, in this century, it couldn’t pass the test

The business prospered awhile and then greed did the rest

“Requiescat in pace.” It will be heard said

It’s on to the next, baseball is dead. 

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