Football. You spheric Pharisee! Don't sniff and brag,
Go join the Bat in his green winter bag!
A hum-drum hibernation is your doom,
The winter season's mine, for me make room!
Cricket Ball. Alas! 'tis true! Retirement is my lot.
The bright green sward, blue skies, and sunshine hot,
September sees an end of. I rejoice
The Surrey Cricket Club has given its voice
Against the money-mania that would make
The Oval turf a frozen swampy lake,
Pounded by heavy-footed Football cracks,
Galloping "forwards," elephantine "backs."
It makes me shudder on my shelf to think
Of that green sward, smooth-surfaced as a rink
Where sturdy Abel cut and drove amain,
And Richardson sent "rippers" down like rain;
Where the white-flannel'd fielders sometimes flopped,
While saucy Surrey sparrows pecked and hopped,—
To think of it all trampled, pounded, ploughed,
By fierce footballers, whilst a furious crowd
Howled in a hideous ring.
Football. Oh, shut up, do!
The S. C. C.'s are an old-fashioned crew,
Who soon will find they are not up to date,
And they'll be sorry—when perhaps too late.
Football's a manly sport for Titan lads!
Cricket Ball. But spoiled by huckster cliques and noisy cads.
Football. Cricket is slow, quite stodgy now and then.
Cricket Ball. But 'tis a sport for friends and gentlemen.
Palemon Punch.
In either sport such honest pleasure lies
That both must win, as each deserves, a prize.
The summer sport is each true Briton's care,
But Football's death would leave our winters bare
Of numerous joys. Damœtas sweetly sang
And clear the music of Menalcas rang;
"Rest equal happy both," in friendly strains
Palemon said to the Virgilian swains;
"Long live and prosper both," Punch says to you;
But O beware the howling harpy crew
Who'd knock the "I" out of our good old Play
And make it all a matter of mere Pay!
The rowdies follow where the hucksters lead,
Football beware of ruffianly greed!
You're treading far too near that fatal trap;
Avoid it, or you'll suffer. Verbum sap!
You, cricket ball, to bounce be not a slave.
Let "championships" and "averages" have
Their proper place. Let love of Number One
Spoil not good sport, good fellowship, good fun.
In short, whether good luck or bad luck comes
Just "play the game," like gentlemen and chums!
So having given his verdict somewhat loth,
Punch ends with wishing the best luck to both!
