A couple of lost baseball poems on a holiday:
Grantland Rice, in The New York Tribune, 1919:
By Way of Revery
But yesterday I watched them start,
Young wonders all in serried row;
By now I’ve seen them all depart–
The years flow faster than we know
For I remember, young and slim,
How Matty gathered game by game;
Today how many mention him?
The years flow faster than all fame.
Where Wagner swung out for his blow–
Where Larry leaned against the ball–
How swift they were last week or so–
The years flow faster than them all.
Today, fresh from the corner lot,
We praise some youngster on the team;
Tomorrow’s page will know him not–
The years flow faster than we dream.
And five years earlier, Ed Remley of The Chicago Inter-Ocean was nostalgic for Cubs teams past:
I was feeling both dusty and bare–
rocky and sober
And the stands were both
The stands were deserted and bare;
‘Twas a day like in lonesome October
And nineteen-fourteen was the year;
I was out at the Cubs’ lonely ballpark
And the ghosts of gone heroes were there;
It was out at the Cubs’ lonesome ballpark
And the Cubs played a ball game out there.
I was sleepy and fell in a trance;
I saw Tinker and Evers and Chance.
Is that Steinfeldt or just Heinie Zim?
Well, it looks much like Harry. It’s him;
Old Mordecai Brown did a dance
On the rubber–a one-step and prance–
And the ball shot to Kling
Like a hell-possessed thing;
I saw all of this stuff at a glance.
But I woke–ouch, I woke from the dream
And I gazed at the laboring team–
Well, they looked pretty good,
But I wished that I could
See again the sweet team of my dream.