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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.
