THE pitcher stands upon the hill, his pose is wonderful. Yet, ere an hour has gone, perchance the crowd Will say that he is only blunderful. He writhes and twists, and suddenly evolves A fast one with a hop,—the same revolves, Deceives the batsman, passes untouched by, Leaps like the waters of Niagara's fall, And the coarse umpire cries "One Ball!" Naw! Such a shame! An instant flame Runs through the populace, and, as one man, They loudly state that dark eternal night Hath seized the umpire's sight, Or that the James Boys, when they rode the trail, Were Saints compared to him—but what avail? What's called is called. Nor can we change one atom of that call, No matter how we caterwaul. The hits begin to ring. The whacksome crash Of the loud ash— Sends our home fielders chasing for and Still a blame sight farther yet, Out where the fence is set. They cannot climb that fence to get the hits. The public fancy flies And suddenly 10,000 voices spout, "Aw take him out! For Mikes' sake, take him out!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NUPTIAL SONG by JOHN BYRNE LEICESTER WARREN THE SECOND MOTHERHOOD by ST. CLAIR ADAMS EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 16. CUPID HIMSELF STUNG by PHILIP AYRES A MORNING AFTER MOURNING by WILLIAM BASSE NIGHTFALL by FLORENCE ASHLEY BELLER |