It was a very pleasant game, And there was naught of grumbling Until the baleful tidings came That Williamson was "fumbling. " Then all at once a hideous gloom Fell o'er all manly features, And Clayton's cozy, quiet room Was full of frantic creatures.
"Click, click," the tiny ticker went, The tape began to rattle, And pallid, eager faces bent To read the news from battle; Down, down, ten million feet or more, Chicago's hope went tumbling, When came the word that Burns and Gore And Pfeffer, too, were "fumbling."
No diagram was needed then To point the Browns to glory -- The simple fact that these four men Were "fumbling" told the story.
There is not a club in all the land -- No odds how weak or humble -- That beats us when our short-stop and Our second baseman "fumble."
There was some talk of hippodrome 'Mid frequent calls for liquor, Then each Chicago man went home Much wiser, poorer, sicker; And many a giant intellect Seemed slowly, surely crumbling Beneath the dolorous effect Of that St. Louis "fumbling."
Ah, well, the struggle's but just begun, So what is the use of fretting If by a little harmless fun Our boys can bull the betting? When comes the tug of war there'll be No accidental stumbling, And then, you bet your boots, you'll see No mention made of "fumbling. "
End of title
Sign in to unlock this title
Sign in to continue reading, it's free! As an unregistered user you can only read a little bit.
