• Author: Jingles
• Editor: B-2331
• Newspaper: The Umpire volume 2
• Page Number:
• Date: 5 7 1913
• Tags:
• poetry
• baseball

THE POET MANAGER When in the game, we cannot blame, The one who makes a muff. But it's a shame, to hear the ‘‘lame"' Excuse, which is a bluff. The other day, we saw a play ‘The Poet made at ‘‘short." And I must say, if that's the way He poorly has been taught. A fast one hit right in his ‘‘mitt"' He dropped and ran away, His lip he bit, he does not fit Where fast ones comes his way, So in his place, to save his face, He put that old time Mike, When now we lace, and make the base, We surely have to "hike." When at the stick, he takes his pick, A ball that's miles too wide, He takes a lick, that makes him sick, And then sits down to hide. But this is true, that he's all blue, Without a streak of yellow, And fighting too, till games are through Don't make him a bad fellow. But take this tip, and don't let slip, The pennant if you want it, Just make them hit, don't get the ‘‘pip"' The season has just started, Moral: A word to the wise is sufficient, Poet, Manager of the Bookworms, get wise. —Jingles