Thou shall feel the warmth of the rays today,
Upon the brow of the face they’ll stay.
Sun and glistening specs will adorn,
the sweat of smiles and the signs of frowns.
Be thou noble or lower claims,
to the forturnes of songs and minstrel’s fame.
That gathering of souls to feast and endure,
those hometown fellows of hearts so pure.
Of knowledge of this their day of play,
for the venture of fortune be theirs today.
Cometh all, lift your voices of cheer,
Vanquish defeat and those sounds of snear.
Ah, thy nobles of this day take the fiield,
embellished with strips and colors they adorn,
rushed forth from the dugout as if newly born.
Thus, a sphere is tossed with a ritual and might,
on the ground to second, then short, then back to first is right.
Thus on a plateau the noble of nobles stands,
in all his grandeur, the games namesake in his hand.
A hush no comes from all the souls,
As they sit and watch, their breaths they hold.
Pitch after pitch, hit after hit, this enduring pain is felt,
through gaps in their placement and over their caps.
Thou fumbling hands, and misguided steps,
how cruelest is fate for not one of them are blessed.
Pitch after pitch this agony goes on,
reliever after reliever seems to be an endless song.
Ah, finally it’s over, the humanity of plight,
finally it’s over, the end of an inning is in sight.
Thou shalt not fault the mighty and the brave,
thou shalt not fault those that did not save,
for their hearts were true, thou pride was tarnished some,
All anguish still endures as the hometown yells…
“get off the field… ya lousy bums!”