The burden of hard hitting. Slug away <br />Like Honus Wagner or like Tyrus Cobb. <br />Else fandom shouteth: "Who said you could play? <br />Back to the jasper league, you minor slob!" <br />Swat, hit, connect, line out, goet on the job. <br />Else you shall feel the brunt of fandom's ire <br />Biff, bang it, clout it, hit it on the knob - <br />This is the end of every fan's desire. <br /> <br />The burden of good pitching. Curved or straight. <br />Or in or out, or haply up or down, <br />To puzzle him that standeth by the plate, <br />To lessen, so to speak, his bat-renown: <br />Like Christy Mathewson or Miner Brown, <br />So pitch that every man can but admire <br />And offer you the freedom of the town - <br />This is the end of every fan's desire. <br /> <br />The burden of loud cheering. O the sounds! <br />The tumult and the shouting from the throats <br />Of forty thousand at the Polo Grounds <br />Sitting, ay, standing sans their hats and coats. <br />A mighty cheer that possibly denotes <br />That Cub or Pirate fat is in the fire; <br />Or, as H. James would say, We've got their goats - <br />This is the end of every fan's desire. <br /> <br />The burden of a pennant. O the hope, <br />The tenuous hope, the hope that's half a fear, <br />The lengthy season and the boundless dope, <br />And the bromidic, "Wait until next year." <br />O dread disgrace of trailing in the rear, <br />O Piece of Bunting, flying high and higher <br />That next October it shall flutter here: <br />This is the end of every fan's desire. <br /> <br />ENVOY <br /> <br />Ah, Fans, let not the Quarry but the Chase <br />Be that to which most fondly we aspire! <br />For us not Stake, but Game; not Goal, but Race - <br /> <br />THIS is the end of every fan's desire.<br /><br />Franklin P. Adams<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-ballad-of-baseball-burdens/
