BALLADE OF A SUBSTITUTE

I’ve been here nearly a season now,
Watching the regulars, day after day;
I wish some wizard would tell me how
To break right into the game and stay.
It isn’t as if I were some thick jay,
Like a lot of those clumsy “Class B” flivvers,
But I’m glued to the bench so hard that, say—
The seat of my pants is full of slivers.
McGill is a terrible lobbygow,
But he’s drawing a regular shortstop’s pay;
He romps around like a crippled cow
And shows the speed of a two-ton dray.
Night after night I kneel and pray
For a chance to work with the real high livers,
But I guess I’ll sub till my hair turns gray—
The seat of my pants is full of slivers.

Clancy ought to be steering a plow
Back on the farm near old Green Bay;
He’s playing third, with his slanting brow;
And Dugan ought to be pitching hay.
The bulls they’ve made since the first of May
Would give a McGraw one million shivers,
But it’s “stay on the bench!” for Kid O’Shay,
The seat of my pants is full of slivers.
“ENVY”
Manager, pardon this mournful bray,
But my pride is hurt and my conscience quivers;
Give me one chance in the thick of the fray—
The seat of my pants is full of slivers.

CASEY ON A BAT

It looked extremely rocky for the Boston team that day,
The score was one to nothing, with one inning left to play.
Casey, who played in centre field, had shown an hour too late—
He hadn’t any alibi when staggering through the gate.
So when he tore his necktie off and stepped upon his hat
The manager looked grim and said, “It’s Casey on a bat.”
“Well,” said the Boston manager, “with joy I ought to scream—
Here’s Casey with a dandy load, the best man on the team.
He told me he was sober, but he couldn’t quite get by
When he stepped upon his derby and was yanking off his tie.
Of all the hard luck in the world! The mean, ungrateful rat!
A blooming championship at stake and Casey on a bat.”

Two Boston batters in the ninth were speedily retired,
“Here, Casey!” cried the manager, speaking as one inspired,
“Go in and bat for Grogan! There’s a man on second base,
And if you hit the way you can we’ll win the pennant race.”
This is no knock on buttermilk, or anything like that,
But the winning hit was made that day by Casey on a bat.