Classic Audiobook Collection - Baseball Ballads by Grantland Rice ~ Full Audiobook [poetry]

Starting point is 00:00:00 Baseball Ballots by Grantland Rice. Dedicated to the fan. From lowly boot-black of the town to merchant-prints of high renown, or butcher, baker, candle-maker, lawyer, doctor, or undertaker, priest or farmer, young or old, or richer poor within the fold, so that his spirit bows before the bondage of the full box score. Whatever be his name or fame, so that his heart leans to the game. End of Section 1.

Starting point is 00:00:31 Section 2 of baseball ballads. This is a Librovox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Read by caveat. Baseball Ballads by Grantland Rice. Play ball. Play ball across the field of green.

Starting point is 00:00:52 The signal sounds the game again. Once more, there reels across the scene. A shout and wild acclaim again. The game is on. The fight begun, across the line of battle's span, until the final score is spun with every record of the clan. Play ball the Rivali has rolled. The bugle called to play a game.

Starting point is 00:01:14 Once more beneath the banners fold, they troop across the way again. The game is on and in the fray, the tumult and the cheering sweep, across the battle line of play until the twilight shadows creep. Play ball, the slogan of the game, of life, of war, of love or hate, for rank or wealth, for name or fame, the player stands against the plate.

Starting point is 00:01:38 The game is on, then in the strife, where fate the pitcher speeds the ball. The player plays the game of life until the final shadows fall. End of section 2. Section 3 of baseball ballads. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain.

Starting point is 00:02:03 For more information or to volunteer, Please visit Libravox.org. Recording by caveat. Baseball balance by Grantland Rice. When the bug is on the ball. Come sing, ye Jimmy Riley, from your ancient lyric stock, when the frost is on the pumpkin and the fodder's in the shock, and will let the bounding echoes catch the lyric in your lay

Starting point is 00:02:26 as it darts around the bases to the outfield and away. For there's music in its makeup, and there's rhythm in its run, with a touch of back to nature in its sentiment of fun. But in some way it struck us that the theme is out of date, as a new age comes a whizzing and a curving by the plate. So we'll start another chorus as the echoes rise and fall, and the bat is on the bingle, and a bug is on the ball. Come sing ye Jimmy Riley, and we'll listen to your strain,

Starting point is 00:02:57 but we'll find our thoughts astraying from the waving of the grain, to the waving of the bludgeon as the batters drawn back, and they wave against the trademark with a wallop and a whack. And the swimming hole is spaded with its one-time tender pull, to the hole the pitcher's got in with the blooming bases full, and while whatever happens we'll never have a knock, for the thrust upon the pumpkin and the fodder in the shock. There's a later theme that draws us when the echoes rise and fall,

Starting point is 00:03:27 when the bat is on the bingle and the bug is on the ball. So come ye Jimmy Riley with a later son, song to sing. When the fanned is on the frolic and the wallop on the wing. When the swing is on the spitter and the swipe is on the swat. When the bum is on the bobble and he boots one round the lot. When the brake is on the bender and the squad is on the stump. Or the flag is on the flutter and the brick is on the hump. Belay that ancient chatter of the fodder, frost and shock. When the root is on the rampage and the knock is on the knock. For a later theme has drawn us where the echoes rise and fall. When the bat is on the bingle.

Starting point is 00:04:04 And the bug is on the ball. End of Section 3. Section 4 of Baseball Balance. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by Caviat. Baseball ballads by Grantland Rice.

Starting point is 00:04:33 Casey's Revenge There were saddened hearts in Mudville for a week or even more. There were muttered oaths and curses. Every fan in town was sore. Just think, said one, how soft it looked with Casey at the bat, and then to think he'd go and spring a bush-league trick like that. All his past fame was forgotten. He was now a hopeless shine. They called him strike out Casey from the mayor down the line. And as he came to bat each day his bosom heaved a sigh, while a hopeless look of fury shone in mighty Casey's eye. He pondered in the days gone by that he had been their king,

Starting point is 00:05:12 but when he strolled up to the plate, they made the welkin ring. But now his nerve had vanished, for when he heard them hoot, he fanned or popped out daily, like some minor league recruit. He soon began to sulk and loaf, his batting eye went lame. No home runs on the scorecard now were chalked against his name. The fans without exception gave the manager no peace For one and all kept clamouring for Casey's quick release The Mudville squad began to slump

Starting point is 00:05:42 The team was in the air Their playing went from bad to worse Nobody seemed to care Back to the woods with Casey was the cry from Root's row Get someone who can hit the ball and let that big dub go The lane is long someone has said That never turns again And fate though fixed

Starting point is 00:06:02 often gives another chance to men, and Casey smiled, his rugged face no longer wore a frown. The pitcher who had started all the trouble came to town. All Mudville had assembled, ten thousand fans had come, to see the twirler who had put Big Casey on the bum. And when he stepped into the box, a multitude went wild. He doffed his cap in proud disdain, but only Casey smiled. Play ball, the umpire's voice rang out, and then the game began.

Starting point is 00:06:35 But in that throng of thousands there was not a single fan, who thought that Mudville had a chance, and with the setting sun, the hope sank low, the rival team was leading four to one. The last half of the ninth came round with no change in the score, but when the first man up hit safe, the crowd began to roar. The din increased the echo of ten thousand shouts was heard, when the pitcher hit the second and gave four balls to the third. Three men on base, nobody out, three runs to tie the game.

Starting point is 00:07:08 A triple meant the highest niche in Mudville's Hall of Fame. But here the rally ended and the gloom was deep as night. When the fourth one fouled to catcher and the fifth flew out to right. A dismal groan in chorus came, a scowl was on each face. When Casey walked up, bat in hand and slowly took its place. His bloodshot eyes in fury gleamed His teeth were clenched in hate He gave his cap of vicious hook

Starting point is 00:07:35 And pounded on the plate But fame is fleeting as the wind and glory Fades away There were no wild and woolly cheers No glad acclaimed this day They hissed and groaned and hooted As they clamoured strike him out But Casey gave no outward sign

Starting point is 00:07:53 That he had heard this shout The pitcher smiled and cut one loose across the plate it sped. Another hiss, another groan. Strike one, the Empire said. Zip, like a shot, the second curve broke just below the knee. Strike two, the umpire roared aloud.

Starting point is 00:08:10 But Casey made no plea. No roasting for the umpire now. His was an easy lot. But here the pitcher whirled again. Was that a rifle shot? A rack, a crack, and out through the space the leather pellet flew, a blot against

Starting point is 00:08:26 the distant sky, a speck against the blue. Above the fence in centre field in rapid whirling flight, the sphere sailed on, the blot grew dim, and then was lost to sight. Ten thousand hats were thrown in air, ten thousand threw a fit, but no one ever found the ball that Mighty Casey hit. Oh, somewhere in this favourite land, dark clouds may hide the sun, and somewhere bands no longer play, and children have no fun. And some were over-blighted lives, there hangs are heavy pall. But Mudville hearts are happy now, for Casey hit the ball. End of Section 4.

Starting point is 00:09:09 Section 5 of baseball ballots. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Read by Elise D. Baseball Ballots by Grantland Rice. The Bugs Viewpoint Beyond the sleet, across the snows, he did not see the budding rose that waved its

Starting point is 00:09:32 crimson welcome to an earth of green, a sky of blue, nor yet the daffy daffodils that crowned the valleys and the hills, the apple blossoms pink and white, that drifted into lanes of light. He did not hear the bluebird sing, nor yet south wind whispering, and murmur through the maple trees that swayed and slanted to the breeze, and harbored on each bending limb the maker of a woodland hymn, and yet, like every living thing, he too had drawn his dream of spring. He saw a gent arrayed in blue, heaved boldly into public view, and in a fog-horn tenor called to thousands, batter up! Play ball!

Starting point is 00:10:13 He saw a tall guy nod and beck, and then cut one round the neck, while in a trance the slugger there in in in inanly paddled at the air. He saw the shortstop leave his place, and flag one back of second base, and wing it swiftly on ahead to where the dashing runner sped. saw before his flashing eye, the keen outfielder fence would fly, and with a mighty effort pull, the drive down with the bass is full. He heard once more the Routers call the ringing clash of bat and ball, the cry of belted on the snout.

Starting point is 00:10:47 Don't try to bunt there! Whale it out! The groans and curses, jeers and cheers and cheers, like music tinkled in his ears. The grandstand rocked and roared in strife. The howling bleachers leaped to life. whooping, jeering, shouting, cheering, praying cursing, pleading, fearing, stamping, howling, smiling, growling, laughing, weeping, snarling, scowling. Over city, field and glen, the buglin chorus rang again, for he, like every other thing, had drawn his dream of golden spring.

Starting point is 00:11:21 End of Section 5. Section 6 of baseball ballots. This is a Librevox recording. All Librevox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libervox.org. Read by Elise D. Baseball Ballots by Grantland Rice The Courtship of a Son of Swat. They were seated in the parlor and the lights were burning dim. He was a major leaguer, Shia fan, so fair and trim. But they knew not as he opened up the game by murmuring Love, that father was the umpire on the stairway just above. I like your form, he let off first. With me, you've made a hit. Your curves are good. You've got the speed, and you are looking fit. Now, if with you, my turtle dove, I make a hit likewise. Won't you

Starting point is 00:12:18 improve my single life and make a sacrifice? I'll promise to support you, dear, with all my skill each day. I'll draft a pretty home for you and fix it right away. If you'll just call the game a tie, I will no longer roam. And when I slide into the plate, please call me safe. home. First tell me, sir, she pitched at him, how high you ranked last fall. Show me your fielding average and how hard you hit the ball. In Matrimony's busy league, dumb plays are out of place. I like to know the dope before I play too far off the base. Remember that the game is rough when the pay days fail to come. Sometimes the salary whip is lame, the noodles on the bum. And don't forget you'll be reserved for life and held in line. But promise me you'll be reserved for life. But promise me you'll

Starting point is 00:13:05 never jumped your contract, and I'll sign." He started warming up at once with victory in his eye. He shoved a fast one round her neck, the other was waist-high. Just here the umpire butted in. She said, Oh, Father, please, there's nothing wrong for George is only showing me the squeeze. The old man gave an irate snort and said, I'll help the fun, by showing George another play that's called The Hit and Run. He swung like Wagner at his best, a soul-inspiring cloud.

Starting point is 00:13:37 The son of Swat slid down the steps. The umpire yelled, you're out. End of Section 6. Section 7, Baseball Ballads. This is a Librevox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visitlibrovox.org. Read by caveat.

Starting point is 00:14:06 Baseball Ballads by Grantland Rice The Bush Leagueers dream The young recruit stood dreaming Where the sultry sun was beaming With the perspiration streaming down his neck He had missed four easy chances Which aroused some angry glances And he saw his big league fancies

Starting point is 00:14:27 Were a wreck His work had been erratic And he'd heard one mad fanatic He'll intones far from ecstatic chase that cheese. Whereupon he drew a vision that was all to the Elysian and he spoke with much decision

Starting point is 00:14:43 words like these. If I could run the bases like Bill Bryan, if only I had Ted Roosevelt's batting eye, if I had the reach of Thomas Fortune Ryan, I'd never let another chance get by. If I was only as cool as Charlie Fairbanks or had control like Harriman has got,

Starting point is 00:15:03 I'd be the diamonds daisy, and I'd set the bleachers crazy, for I'd be the greatest player of the lot. There'd been a dearth of scoring, and the anxious bugs were roaring, in the bleachers and imploring for a hit, until finally one fellow plucked a triple, ripe and mellow, and the way those fans did bellow in a fit.

Starting point is 00:15:25 Just one little tap would cinch it, just one timely little pinch hit, and the contest would be safely on the shelf. But the Bush League phenom madly swung in vain at three, then sadly walked away and murmured softly to himself. If only I had a batting eye like Teddy, if I had the speed of John D ducking fines, I'd have a big lead job and hold it steady,

Starting point is 00:15:48 for I'd make both Cobb and Wagner look like shines. If only I could steal in running bases, look all these malefactors of great wealth. I'd be the diamond daisy, and I'd set the bleachers crazy, and I wouldn't be here playing for my health. End of Section 7. section eight of baseball ballads this is a librivox recording all librivox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit librivox dot org read by elise d baseball ballads by grantland rice springtime in the history room

Starting point is 00:16:30 she spoke of alexander as an eminent commander and showed him how this gentleman was always on the job but freckled mickey horner blinking over in the corner dreamed of cut She praised the late Jay Caesar as a keen artistic geyser, whose performances in most ways deserved a lasting bonus. But little Tim O'Grady, though his eyes were on the lady, thought of Honus. She lauded Mr. Hannibal, the chocolate-colored cannibal, but when she asked young Hainey Schmidt, who made the Romans dance, with his brain-wheels on the were, Hainey, looking up at her, answered, chance. She spoke of Greek and Roman and of horsemen and bowmen, of phalanxes and legions in the medieval game, of Goths and Huns and Vandals and such other early scandals known to fame. But young Timothy O'Toole, as he canted home from school, lost but little time forgetting what he

Starting point is 00:17:25 termed a bunch of dubs, as he doped the playing science of the pirates, socks, and giants, and the Cubs. End of Section 8. of baseball ballads. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by caveat. Baseball Ballads by Grantland Rice. The Holdout League. What has become of Bill Wiggins, the old star who passed up the game? The 300 hitter who swore on his oath he would never return to the same. He is still out of line as he promised. but suffering deeply with pain.

Starting point is 00:18:16 Poor Bill broke a leg when reporting day came, in an effort to catch the first train. Where is Pat Kelly, the slabman, who swore he had pitched his last ball, who tore up his contract and said with the roar, he was finished for good and for all. When the giants all meet at the depot, in vain Mr. Kelly they seek,

Starting point is 00:18:36 but they find on arriving in Texas that Pat has already been there a week. The dope I give out's on their level, said Mike in a hot, interview. Just make it as strong as the paper will stand. I will never come back. I am through. But when they arrived at the station, when the train to the training camp led, they had to tie Mike to a telegraph pole to keep him from running ahead. There is gloom in the camp of the pirates. The giants are fit of alarm, for Matty and Wagner and Tenney have quit to take a job at the farm.

Starting point is 00:19:09 But it's queer when you turn to the line up at the opening chorus of Bing. That the first guys to quit on the diamond each fall are the first ones at bat in the spring. End of Section 9. Section 10 of Baseball Ballads. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Read by Elise D.

Starting point is 00:19:39 Baseball Ballots by Grantland Rice. The Song of the Bass Hit. A twist, a whirl, and a sudden jar, and off from the bat to the field of far. Off like the shot from a ten-inch gun, a gray-white streak through the slanting sun. I saw away through a summer's day where frantic fielders of the fray,

Starting point is 00:19:58 with dervish dance and anguished glance, come whirling in to cop me, but I glide between with a mocking mean. There is none to stop me. A shout, a roar, and a ringing cheer, and on my way through the atmosphere, I leap to the light where the clenched hands grip, as wild eyes watch me fly or,

Starting point is 00:20:16 skip through open space in headlong race as the joy of the ages lights each face and pulses jump with a vibrant thump as the sky reels from the roar and the rafters ring with the song I sing to the tune of the winning score. The song I sang is the sweetest song or the saddest note to the waiting throng that the world has known through the ages dim with keener lilt than a battle him. For my refrain brings joy and pain, where lost hopes rise and fond hopes wane, and in my path sweeps a city's wrath, or a city's wild acclaim. And the planets ring with the song I sang, the song of a nation's game. End of Section 10. Section 11 of Baseball Ballads. This is Libervox recording. All recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer,

Starting point is 00:21:15 Here, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by caveat. Baseball Ballads by Grantland Rice On the road to Rooters Row In each long deserted ballpark from New York to Tennessee There's the whisper of an echo waffled forth to you and me For the wind course through the pine trees and the maple soft and blow Come ye back, you wild fanatic

Starting point is 00:21:43 coming back to Root's Row On the road to Root's row In the sunlight's golden glow Can't you hear those mad bugs whooping As the pitcher fans are foe On the road to Rooters Row Where the sad fans wail in woe Then a cheer comes up like thunder

Starting point is 00:22:02 When the short stop lays him low Where the peanut husks are falling And the pop is flowing free Where they pound you on the backbone In a massive fit of glee where the hit here out your sucker greets the batsman true and tired then a boding rush of terror Then a slide you bonad slide

Starting point is 00:22:21 On the road to Rooters row In the sunlight's golden glow Can't you hear those mad vokes whooping As the pitcher fans are foe On the road to Rooters row Where the sad fans wail in woe Then a cheer comes up like thunder When the short stop lays him low

Starting point is 00:22:41 O, the war-whoops from the coaches as they writhe and dance about. Oh, the joshing of the sun-gods as they rise up with a shout. Oh, the call of thief and pirate at the fan-flock's greatest foe, as the lordly umpire wanders once again by Routers' Row. On the road to Routers' Row in the sunlight's golden glow, can't you hear those mad-bugs whooping as the pitcher fans are foe? On the road to Routers' row, where the sad fans wail in woe,

Starting point is 00:23:12 then a cheer comes up like thunder when the short stop lays him low. Ship me somewhere into springtime, where a sprinter starts for first, where the only one commandment is to win or you're the worst, for I feel the fever coming once again to hear the call of the vibrant voice director and his batter up play ball.

Starting point is 00:23:36 On the road to Root's Row in the sunlight's golden glow, Can't you hear those mad boats whooping as the pitcher fans are foe? On the road to Root's row, where the sad fans wail in woe, then a cheer comes up like thunder when the shortstop lays him below. End of Section 11. Section 12 of baseball ballots. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain.

Starting point is 00:24:10 For more information or to volunteer, please visitlibrovox.org. Read by Elise D. Baseball Ballots by Grantlin Rice Till the Last Man is out Old pal, is the game just a trifle too rough Is the flag of success floating out of your view? Does the schedule of life seem too rocky and tough? Is the umpire throwing it into you?

Starting point is 00:24:33 It may look that way but fight on just the same. Get back at your rivals with clout for clout. Don't think you are beaten and so pull up lame For the game's never lost till the last man is out. Run out every hit, whether hard one or not. Sacrifice right when it's up well up to you. Don't try to hammer the ball from the lot. Just hit it where they ain't, and a single will do. There's many a lineup that came from behind when the outlook was gloomy and clouded with doubt. You'll be in the running if you bear in mind. No game's ever lost till the last man is out.

Starting point is 00:25:08 Quite often the hoodoo will camp on your trail, and the luck break against you with never a stop. The harder you struggle, the more you will fail, as you fumble them, boot them, and let them all drop. But it's all in the game, so swing on to your pace, and don't mind the knocking that's floating about. It's the finish that counts, not the start of the race, and the game's never lost till the last man is out. Good fortune may take you along for a day, but fortune is fickle. Don't bank on her strong. Fast work on the bases in each scrappy fray, with teamwork and hitting will take you along. You can't help your errors, but cut out dumb plays, for those are the miscues that put you to route. Stand up to the plate and remember always.

Starting point is 00:25:53 The game's never lost till the last man is out. L'Anvoy. When you ponder it over, they're both much the same, for life just like baseball is shrouded in doubt, and the point in them both is to play out the game, and never give up till the last man is out. End of Section 12. who never battered at a curve. I bet this dante was a bluff and minor leaguer on the side, for while he wrote a bail of stuff,

Starting point is 00:26:57 his name is not in Spalding's guide. What belt did Homer ever win find chance that dub would have today, to cash in on the easy tin, who never put his man away? And Milton had the nerve to try to make a living out of verse, who never closed a rival's eye,

Starting point is 00:27:16 or split the big end of a purse. No wonder in those days of yore those ancient artists had no chance to chew a stake or that they wore big healthy patches on their pants. In place of farming out a crop, of rhyme and meter without flaw, they should have learned to throw a drop or slam a wallop to the jaw. End of Section 13. Section 14 of baseball ballots. This is a Librevox recording.

Starting point is 00:27:50 Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org, read by Elise D. Baseball Ballots by Grantland Rice. The Climax of Fanjoy There was cheering in the grandstand when Bill Bradley hit to write, and the bleachers whooped and clamored in a chorus of delight. And when the twirler lost control and passed the next two up,

Starting point is 00:28:15 the whine of human happiness brims swiftly, are the cup. The base is full with two men out and Larry at the bat. Oh, can you wonder that each fan should stand and wave his hat? Or can you wonder that the Yelp should percolate the gloom, with Larry waiting anxiously to bring the runners home? The pitcher whirls and cuts one loose, a brawny gent as he, and like a cannon shot, it shoots above the batsman's knee. He swings and low from every throat of that excited crowd. There comes a shriek of fiendish joy, protracted, long and light. loud. The fans arise in yelping glee while hats are thrown in the air. The mighty chorus echoes from the ball yard to the square. It rumbles down the valley and resounds from peak to peak, and leagues away it travels in one discord and shriek. They stamp and shout in maddened rout, they joyfully embrace, a smile of perfect happiness illumines in every face. Nor does the tumult quickly die, but in exultant roar, it gathers volume like the waves, which, lashed the ocean shore. Then Larry must have made a hit and cleared the sacks, you say.

Starting point is 00:29:24 Thus winning with a mighty swat, the hard-fought, brilliant fray. No, Larry didn't make a hit. The cause of all this din, the inshoot carumed off his bat, and cracked the umpire's shin. End of section 14. Section 15 of baseball ballads. This is a Libravox recording. All Libervox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libervox.org, read by Elise D. Baseball Ballots by Grantland Rice. Section

Starting point is 00:30:01 15 Songs of SWAT. You Eustor Bat 300. A once big leaguer slid in at home at 3 a.m. one morn, with a perfect fielding average in the league of barley corn. He had pulled down 15 high balls, everyone quite warm

Starting point is 00:30:17 and hot, and at every chance presented he was Wagner on the spot. But as he fumbled, at the key his wife was waiting there, with his favorite ash furniture suspended in the air. And as he tried to curve across, she bunted at the head, and slammed a triple on his neck, as viciously, she said, you used to hit 300. Oh, your batting was immense. You used to slam him every day against the left field fence, but now you're in a bush league, for there ain't no guy in sight can bat around 300, Bo who bats around all night. The leaker tried to play at its

Starting point is 00:30:53 safe before she fanned him out. I'll make a sacrifice, he cried, but ease up on that clout. Hans Wagner never saw the day when he could hit like that. I only wish that John McGraw could see you swing a bat. In vain he tried to score a run. In vain he shed each tear. In vain he tried to reach his mask and breast protector near. She tagged him all around the room, no matter how he'd slide and wrapped out doubles on his back as viciously she cried. You used to hit 300, oh, your batting was great. The pitchers used to jump in league when you came to the plate, but now they've got you faded, for there ain't no guy in sight, can bat around 300, Bo, who bats around all night. End of Section 15. Section 16 of baseball ballads.

Starting point is 00:31:46 This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibraVox.org. Recording by caveat. Baseball ballads by Grantman Rice The Test Never mind the speed you've got, never mind about your curve,

Starting point is 00:32:09 though it sail around the lot with a zigzag and a swerve. How you grip or twist the ball enters not upon the scroll. Here's the answer to it all. How is your control? Never mind how hard you swing, or the keenness of your eye, as the pitcher takes a fling and a pellet whistles by.

Starting point is 00:32:28 With the hard-forward battle done, here's the answer to it all. When a base hit might have won, did you hit the ball? Never mind about the luck, or the umpire robbing you, how the fates were there to buck everything you tried to do. Cut it out and let it go. In the book of praise or blame, this is all there is to know. Did you play the game? End of Section 16.

Starting point is 00:33:00 Section 17 of baseball ballads. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by caveat. Baseball ballads by Grantland Rice. Laugh on Nero. Among the Coliseum throng, King Nero sat him down.

Starting point is 00:33:28 A toga wrapped his shoulder blade, upon his face, a frown. "'Oh, turn the tigers loose!' he cried, and bring the lions out, "'at which the massive mob stood up and cheered with mighty shout. "'The fiercest lions Numidia had ever grown were there, "'the most bloodthirsty tigerines from Bengal's far-famed lair. "'For weeks no food of any sort to be left in their cage, "'to work each beast into a pitch of gnawing, clawing rage. "'Out in the centre of the throng the victim took his stand.

Starting point is 00:33:57 "'A careless smile upon his lips, no weapon in his hand. He looked serenely on the mob which clamoured for his gore, and faced the teeggs with smothered yawns, unmindful of their roar. The signal given, with a snarl each lion and tiger rushed, upon their prey while all around the multitude sat hushed, while waiting for their victim to be scattered limb from limb, and many Roman coins were bet on what they do to him.

Starting point is 00:34:23 But lo, the victim stood his ground, and with a lordly air, he waged each lion and tiger back and gave them glare for glare. He listened while they growled around and howled at him a bit, then pointed toward the nearest gate and simply answered, Git! Before that gesture and that look, that voice so cold and keen, the growling monsters beat it very quickly from the scene.

Starting point is 00:34:46 While with a bored and blaze air are mindful of his cup, the victim took another chew and cried, Next batter up! Upon his perch, King Nero sat, quite stunderstruck with awe. This is the strangestrish gents, said he that I have ever saw. By all the gods of ancient Rome, who can this duffer be?

Starting point is 00:35:06 I used to umpire, he replied. This job was pie for me. End of section 17. Section 18 of baseball ballads. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org.

Starting point is 00:35:30 Recording by caveat. Baseball ballads by Grantland Rice. Curfewed Fringed by clouds the sun was setting, all the hills so far away, filling all the land with beauty at the close of yesterday, and the straggling rays descending fell upon all fandom there, fans with aching, anguished bosoms, fans bowed down in bleak despair. Jimmy said a little newsboy to a ragged pal nearby,

Starting point is 00:36:01 who sat frowning at the scoreboard with a teardrop. in his eye. We ain't got a chance to make it, and his face was set and white. Authors got us on the hog train. Cleveland can't win out tonight. Every fan from box to bleachers sat in silence, sick and sore, as each inning sped by swiftly, and the naplets failed to score. For New York had pounded Otto steadily from left to right,

Starting point is 00:36:31 so it looked like easy money. Cleveland wouldn't win that night. In the meanwhile, Orth was puzzling every batter on our team, so the chance to land a victory seemed an empty, idle dream. Nothing doing in the seventh till at last above the crowd.

Starting point is 00:36:49 New York's braces of luscious tallies hovered like a midnight cloud. Sitting on his bench, Clark Griffith softly murmured, 23. Skidoo Larry to the shadows of the ancient apple tree. Mr. Orth was smiling blandly with the finish just in sight. Thinky as he shot one over, Cleveland's out of it tonight.

Starting point is 00:37:13 Two more rounds to make a rally, two more rounds to turn the trick. Can you wonder for a minute why the cranks were feeling sick? Not an echo from the grandstand. There was a dearth of whoops and cheers, with a ghastly silence broken, only by the splashing tears. "'Batter up,' said Umpire O'Connor. Larry strode up to the plate, with a bludgeon in his talons while his teeth were clenched in hate. "'Bing, was that another earthquake, or a cyclone in the air?

Starting point is 00:37:45 "'For the mighty shout that followed must have rumbled through the square.' Rossman followed, and the tumult grew into a madden shout. "'Bing, the racket grew terrific. "'Two on base and no one out. "'Jackson next, and hopes long-buried, anew upon the wing. Soka, Jimmy, screeked the routers, and the echo answered, Bing! Bradley forced and Bemis singled. One had scored in every sack, had a sprinter only waiting,

Starting point is 00:38:15 for another welcome crack. Tighter, tighter grew the tension. Stovall went to bass for Hess. Stovall with his little horseshoe. Lucky George, well, I should guess. Well, by now you've heard the story of the wild-throw Conroy made. When he tagged out Harry Beamer, and a double play as sade. Al Orth was a blighted being Griffith Hare turned snowy white. For, in place of New York winning, Cleveland copped the game last night.

Starting point is 00:38:44 End of Section 18. Section 19 of baseball ballots. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by Cappiat. Baseball ballads by Grantland.

Starting point is 00:39:08 rice, the fan and his way. There was a fan in our town and he was wondrous wise. Or hit him out, he'd yell in rage at every sacrifice. And when some player tried to bunt and got choked off at first, this wild-eyed fan arose in wrath

Starting point is 00:39:26 and bitterly he cursed. Of all the dubs are slowest tubs I ever saw play ball. Of all the jokes the fat-head blokes, that one has got the call. But made him spring a trick like that. There ain't nobody, no. "'chop out that bunch, you crazy runt, and slap it on the nose.' "'There was a fan in our town, and he was wondrous wise,

Starting point is 00:39:49 "'the self-same gent that yelled in rage at every sacrifice. "'But when a player lined one out instead of sacrificing "'and cracked into a double play, the outburst was surprising. "'Of all the fat heads, far and near, I ever saw play ball, "'of all the mutts, the brainless butts that guy has got the call, When it gets down to Bush League work That lobster takes the cake Wait don't you bunch your crazy runt

Starting point is 00:40:14 When's that the play to make? There was a fan in our town And he had wondrous eyes And when the umpire called a strike He'd howl in mad surprise And on some play at second base Full 50 yards away Behind the screen he'd raise in wrath

Starting point is 00:40:31 With sundry things to say What, that man out Wake up old scout No wonder we lose the game He had that beat a dozen feet, you second Jesse James. Of course, the umpire on the spot could not outline the play, like that wise guy with eagle eye, two hundred feet away. There was a fan in our town, the team won out that night.

Starting point is 00:40:54 He swore by all the ancient gods that the bunch was out of sight. Next day they lost, but what he said was private information, or what is technically called, unfit for publication. Blank, blank, blank. And other phrases, which are less I know beyond a doubt, would bring a moral shock if I should fill the spaces out. End of section 19. Section 20 of baseball ballads.

Starting point is 00:41:29 This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by caveat. Baseball ballads by Gravig. and rice. Over the plate. Bill Jones had the speed of a cannon ball. He could loosen a brick from a three-foot wall. When he shot one across, it would hurtle by, too swiftly for even the surest eye. No one could hit him when he was right, as no eye could follow the ball's quick

Starting point is 00:42:01 flight. Bill should have starred in a big league role, but he stuck to the miners. He lacked control. Jack Smith had a curve like a loop-the-loop. He would start for your head, with a sudden swoop and breaked your knee with a zigzag wave, and the league's best hitters would roar and wave. At the jump it took and the sudden swerve, shades of the boomerang, what a curve! But Jack still doomed at the Bish League fate. He could not get it across the plate. Tom Brown had both the speed and the curves,

Starting point is 00:42:33 a combination which jarred the nerves. He would steam them by till they looked like peas, and then take a jump from your neck to your knees. "'From the worst to the best of the league by Jing, "'he had them all in the phantom swing, "'but he missed the mark of the chury grate. "'Port on he couldn't locate the plate. "'How is it with you, if I may ask?

Starting point is 00:42:53 "'Have you got control of your daily task? "'Have you got control of your appetite, "'of your temper and tongue in a bitter fight? "'Have you got control of your brawain and brain, "'or are you laboring all in vain? "'It matters not what your daily role. have you got control? Have you got control? It counts not what you may have, my friend,

Starting point is 00:43:16 when the story is told that the game's far end. The greatest brawn and the greatest brain, the world has known may be yours in vain. The man with control is the one who mounts, and it's how you use what you've got that counts. Have you got the bead? Are you aiming straight? How much of your effort goes over the plate? End of section 20.

Starting point is 00:43:44 Section 21 of baseball ballads. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Read by Elisdi. Baseball ballads by Grantlin Rice. Knocking slang. Knicks on the slang, chop out the stuff. That ain't no way to pass the dope out. Crawl easy on this line of guff and push it for a gentle slope out. Don't make the English spiel a joke by crabbing up the conversation. Give it a chance correctly spoke without some wise mutts explanation. If there is one thing

Starting point is 00:44:22 puts the punk kibosh upon me, it's the geyser who's always spilling out some junk and running in some funny weezer. Who jams in with a bunch of talk that listens like it had a cancer until somebody calls a bach and grabs a chart to pick the answer? Why ain't the old spiel good enough

Starting point is 00:44:41 that's lined out in the dictionary that we must draw this crossfire guff to which no sane gazebe is Jerry. I'll take mine in the simple buzz when Noah Webster led the batting. He had these slangsters on the buzz when it came down to big league chatting. Nick's on this slang, it's on the blink, and my remarks are here emphatic. The geek who slings it through the ink has beetles in his Bush League attic. Let's slip on in the big revive for scholarly and classic. diction. Come on, you mutts now with the dive and do a brodie at this fiction.

Starting point is 00:45:19 End of Section 21. Section 22 of Baseball Ballads. This is a Liberovox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by caveat. Baseball ballads by Grantland Rice. The Real Springtime. I do not care about the spring, of which the high bro. proud poets sing, of vines where budding blossoms cling, and all that sort of blooming thing. I care not for the triolet, which boost the early violet, nor buzzing bees, nor budding trees,

Starting point is 00:46:00 nor scented stuff upon the breeze, the bard who braes of meadows green, to me is balmy in the bean. I do not care about the spring, of happy larks upon the wing, of mocking birds that rise and sing, and all that fuzzy sort of thing. I care not for the April snow. "'of white bloom wafted to and fro. "'The sunlit weather, purple heather, "'lovers down the lane together. "'The dope who draws his brand of throb, "'to me, is knotty in the knob.'

Starting point is 00:46:29 "'But hail, thrice hail, the golden spring, "'which ushers in the spitball fling, "'the echo of the three-base bing, "'which makes the budlund-welkin ring, "'the shout across the great divide, "'of slide, you bone-head, lobster, "'slide, the mighty roar that sings the score, "'the chance to lap the umpire,

Starting point is 00:46:48 Gore, tell your mocking bird's spring call, give me the melody, play ball. End of poem. Section 23 of baseball ballads. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer,

Starting point is 00:47:12 please visit Libravox.org. Recording by caveat. Baseball ballads by Grantland Rice. The Raven. Up to date. Last night, while I pondered, dreary, grouchy, sore and limp and leery, all the dope in my apartments, far upon the thirteenth floor, as I nodded, nearly napping. Suddenly there came at tapping,

Starting point is 00:47:37 as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. Tis some build collector, thought I, wrapping at my chamber door. Only that and nothing more. Ah, distinctly I remember, I was thinking of, and the finish of the league race what the future had in store. And I started prophesying where the pennant would be flying, till at last I gave up trying, feeling very sad and sore. For the dope was so uncertain that I gave up sad and sore,

Starting point is 00:48:12 grumbling slowly, never more. As I sat there nearly bug house, longing for a nearby jug house, once again I heard the tapping, tapping at my chamber. door. So I hoped it, shrinking Craven, wishing for some happy haven, when, behold, their flap to raven, stalking in across the floor, stalking Edgar Allan Poe-ish right across my ruggler's floor. "'Acht du libe, I was sore.' "'Raven,' cried I, "'why the devil have you come here? On the level I thought Mr. Poe had written "'You would enter never more. What has brought you, you intrigue, with that look so keen,

Starting point is 00:48:54 and eager. Speak up there, you old Bush Liga. Why have you returned, you bore? State your trouble and then skip, sir. Leave me quickly, I implore. Quoth the Raven. What's the score? End of Section 23.

Starting point is 00:49:17 Section 24 of Baseball Ballads. This is a livery box recording. All Libby Box recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libby Box. Baseball ballads by Grantland Rice A Day in the Bleachers

Starting point is 00:49:37 Being a true chronicle of the comments offered by Mike the Bight As the game was in progress Wedged into verse What's that a ball? Oh say you make me weary Why don't you call them strikes you Jesse James? No wonder that a ball club's looking leery with blind men on the job,

Starting point is 00:50:03 empering games. I'm glad I left my watch at home, you pirate, when I see the style what goes with you today. Why, that Alibaba geeseer was a fathead Bush League teaser when it gets down to the scientific way. Wake up, you fathead, take a wallop at it. Swing at them balls what slopes across the cross. the plate. Don't stand there like a blear-eyed mummy

Starting point is 00:50:33 bat it. This ain't no place to dream, you drunken skate. Tree strikes and out, and still you're on the payroll. I only wish I owned this baseball club, and the first thing that I'd do would be

Starting point is 00:50:49 hitch a candy you. About the size of lookout mountain, Mr. Dub. Say, that guy playing second is a dandy. Did you pipe in block that bingle on the bound? He got Ted Roosevelt double-crossed for candy When it comes to swinging hard and covering ground

Starting point is 00:51:10 But the mut-what went and booted that last roller He'd ducked tonight if I but had my wish In my time I think I've seen a bunch of dubs some punkerino But that fella couldn't catch contagious fish End of section 24 Read by our maps throne Section 25 of baseball ballads This is a Libravox recording

Starting point is 00:51:42 All Libravox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit Libravox.org Recording by caveat Baseball Ballads by Grantland Rice A warning Makers of bonnets the women wear Moulders of fashion who air ye be

Starting point is 00:52:03 "'Dere is the curse of my daily prayer. "'Deep is the hatred I have for thee. "'This is the warning I fling afar. "'Mold a more on a smaller plan. "' Chop off a couple of yards of spa, "'or beware the wrath of an angry fan. "'Yesteryear to the game I went, "'daily the pilgrimage I made.

Starting point is 00:52:23 "'Oh, what a waste of coin I spent, "'wondering there how the game was played. "'Was it a hit or an error of roar? "'Was it a stolen base or score? "'I peered in vain, but I only, saw a hat that was nine feet wide or more. Back to the park this spring I passed. Knowing the old styles out of date.

Starting point is 00:52:41 Now, I thought, I shall get at last. I look once more at the old home plate. Was it a hit or a fielding floor? Why the juice did the bleachers roar? In vain I looked, but I only saw, a hat that was nine feet high or more. Makers of bonnets that women wear, moulders of fashion who ere ye be.

Starting point is 00:53:00 Dereer is the curse of my daily prey. deeper the hatred I have for thee. This is the warning I hurled today. Cut on a narrower, shorter plan, chop up a couple of yards each way, or will wear the wrath of a maddened fan. End of Section 25. Section 26 of baseball ballads.

Starting point is 00:53:26 This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Read by Larry Giesicki, Baseball Ballads by Grantman Rice, Out on the Lines. It isn't so much did you make a hit, but how did you swing at the ball? Did you go up to the bat with your nerve all gone and never half try at all? Did your heart beat strong, were your eyes gleaming bright?

Starting point is 00:54:01 Did you swing as it cut the plate? Or did you stand in a listless way and hit at the ball too late? It isn't so much did you score a run, but how did you act on base? Did you run it out at the crack of the bat with a rattling, dashing pace? Did you look for a chance to steal a bag? Did you score by your own keen wit? Or did you get all the way around on the other fellow's hit? It isn't so much did you win the game, but how did you play Old Scout?

Starting point is 00:54:34 Did you give him a fight to the bitter end and scrap to the last? last was out. Did you let him know they were in a game? Did you always come back strong? Or did you loaf when the game seemed lost and quit when the break went wrong? End of Section 26, read by Larry Gizaki, February 19, 2003. Section 27 of baseball ballads, this is a Librovox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more, information or to volunteer, please visit liverbox.org. Recording by caveat.

Starting point is 00:55:20 Baseball ballads by Grantland Rice On Memories War Of all the horrible pictures that hang on memory is one of a certain ballgame that seemeth the worst of all. Not for the money wasted, counting the coin it cost, nor that the umpire robbed us, not that the home team lost, not that shortstop fumbled four balls while I madly cursed, nor the catcher caught like a lobster, it seemeth to me the worst.

Starting point is 00:55:51 I once had a little sweetheart, with eyes that were deep and dark, and to that game I took her into the baseball park. Light as the down of thistles the field has chased the ball. Loud of the roar of tempests follow the rooters' call, and I heard my heart beat loudly as a starman came to bat. when my little sweetheart murmured, Say, look at that woman's hat. Loudly the base hit rattled,

Starting point is 00:56:18 Bringing the tying score, wildly the crowd upstarted, Yelping a mighty roar. Softly there came a whisper, ending my joyous fit. Why is that poor man running? What is a three-base hit? Therefore, of all the pictures that hang on memory's wall,

Starting point is 00:56:37 that one of a certain ballgame, it seemeth a word. of all. End of section 27. Section 28 of baseball ballads. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer,

Starting point is 00:57:00 please visit Libravox.org. Recording by caveat. Baseball Ballots by Grantland Rice. The game. Let's play it out. This little game called Life. But we are listed for so brief a spell, not just to win amid the tumult rife,

Starting point is 00:57:20 or where acclaim and gay applause is swell. Not just to conquer where someone must lose, or reach the goal would ever be the cast, for there are other better ways to choose, though in the end the battle may be lost. Let's play it out, as if it were a sport, wherein the game is better than the goal, and never mind the detailed scores report,

Starting point is 00:57:43 of errors made if each with dauntless soul, but stick it out until the day is done, not wasting fairness for success or fame, so when the battle has been lost or won, the world at least can say he played the game. Let's play it out, this little game called work, or war or love or what part each may draw. Play like a man who scorns to quit or shirk,

Starting point is 00:58:08 because the break may carry some deep flaw, nor simply holding that the gall is all, that keeps the player in the contest staying, but stick it out from curtain rise to fall, as if the game itself were worth the playing. End of Section 28. Section 29 of baseball ballads. This is a Liberovacs recording.

Starting point is 00:58:36 All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by caveat. Baseball ballads by Grantland Rice. Mudville's fate Being number three of the Casey series Depicting the sad finish of Mudville After the celebrated son of SWAT

Starting point is 00:59:00 With the township on the brink By whiffing in the championship game Thus wiping out all interest in a hitherto thriving baseball centre The pathetic fate of Mudville Afterwards is only equaled by that of the deserted village So aptly doped out by the late O Goldsmith Real poet I wandered back to Modville Tom

Starting point is 00:59:23 where you and I were boys, and where we drew in days gone by our fill of childish joys. Alas, the towns deserted now, and only rank weeds grow, where mighty Casey fan the air just twenty years ago. Remember Billy Woodson's place, where in the evening's shade the bunch would gather and discuss the home runs Casey made? Dog fennel now grows thick around that joint we used to know, before old Casey whiffed the breeze some twenty years ago.

Starting point is 00:59:56 The grandstand too has been torn down, no bleachers met my gaze, where you and I will want to sit in happy bygone days. The peanuts which we fumbled there have sprouted in a row, where mighty Casey swung in vain just twenty years ago. Oh, how we used to cheer him, Tom, each time he came to bat, and how we held our breath in awe when on the plate he spat, and when he landed on the ball, how loud we! Yelped, but oh, how loud we cursed when he struck out some twenty years ago.

Starting point is 01:00:27 A diamond is a corn patch now, the outfields overgrown. With pumpkin vines and weedy plots, the routers all have flown. They couldn't bear to live on there, for nothing was the same, where they had been so happy once before that fateful game. The village band disbanded soon, the Mayotune resigned. The council even jumped, scraft, and in seclusion, pined. The marshal caught the next train out, and those we used to know, began to leave in flocks and drove some twenty years ago.

Starting point is 01:00:59 For after Casey fanned that day, the citizens all left, and one by one they sought new lands, heartbroken and bereft. The joyous shouts no more rang out of children at their play. The village blacksmiths closed his shop, the druggist moved away. Alas, for Mudville's banished pomp when mighty Casey reigned, Her grandeur has departed now Her glory is long since waned Her place upon the map is lost

Starting point is 01:01:26 And no one seems to care A wit about the old town now Since Casey biffed the air End of section 29 Section 30 Of baseball ballads This is a Libervox recording All Libravox recordings are in the public

Starting point is 01:01:47 Domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit Librevox.org Recording by caveat Baseball Ballads by Grantland Rice. A toast worthwhile. You may drink, if you will, to the star of renown, who is listed far over the mass,

Starting point is 01:02:06 who has planted his name on the hallway of fame, at a height which no other can pass. I will take off my hat to a player like that. He is worthy of plaudits I know, and none can refuse to extend him his dues, and we'll bow down to him in a row. But come fill your glasses, my lads and my lasses. a toast as the wine drops run

Starting point is 01:02:27 And here's the fellow who plays the game And sticks till the game is done You may drink, if you will, to the brilliant brigade And the ha'raising chances they take To their wonderful stops and their fast-breaking drops And the one-handed catches they make They are worthy of fame For they light up the game

Starting point is 01:02:45 And it's right that their luster should grow And none can refuse to extend them their dues And we'll bow down to them in a row Then ho fill your glasses my lads and my lasses, a toast as the red drops run, and here's to the fellow who plays the game and sticks till the game is done. It doesn't count much at the tail's far end, whether victory cometh or not.

Starting point is 01:03:08 If but early and late we will stand to the plate and give them the best we have got. If we keep up the fight till the end is in sight, and never give up though we tire, although out of breath we'll be in at the death, with a pretty fair lead at the wire. So up with your glasses, my lads and my lasses. A toast as the wine drops run.

Starting point is 01:03:28 And here's to the fellow who plays the game and sticks till the game is done. End of Section 30. Section 31 of Baseball Ballads. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org.

Starting point is 01:03:54 Recording by caveat. Baseball ballads by Grantland Rice. The champs of the Alley League Just at this time every season When the sun beats down on the street When the breath of another springtime Comes up with its fragrance sweet When the Winter League races over

Starting point is 01:04:13 And the clans of a new campaign Are camped in the fields of Dixie Cheered on by the fan refrain As they talk of a coming pennant Or speak of an all-star team My fancy flies on the south wind On the crest of an old old dream Back where the other

Starting point is 01:04:30 eye gleamed brightly where the soul knew no fatigue, when I was one of the ragged stars, the champs of the Alley League. I hear that the fever is rising, that the great fan flock once more, is ready to sit in the bleachers and cheer for the

Starting point is 01:04:46 winning score. They speak of a coming wonder, they talk of a flag to fly, they whisper the thrilling story of Mike and his batting eye. But out from the mad fanatics my fancy wonders free, from the hopes of a glad tomorrow to the land of the used to be. Far from the spitball gossip, far from McGraw's intrigue, when I first played on the ragged stars, the champs of the Alley League.

Starting point is 01:05:16 And what is the mighty Wagner to Mickey the Human Slat, who batted around 800 with a broomstick for a bat? Where is the big league gameless of stars they have set on thrones? to Johnny the Jew who tied the score with a slide over cobblestones. Matthewson's curbs are a mystery, Walsh is a wonder too, but Pat McGuire set the strikeout mark with a pellet of yarn and glue. Boast of your chance and Jennings, winners of keen intrigue, but they never stacked up with the ragged stars, the champs of the Alley League. Just at this time every season when the March Sun warms the town,

Starting point is 01:05:55 when the little green leaves peep shyly from the stark brayer limbs of brown When the voice of the rooter rises In the roll of a rippling cheer The winds of another springtime Blow back from another year The cry of the barefoot legions The shouts of the tattered host

Starting point is 01:06:12 As twinkling feet raced madly in a dash For the telephone post To a wagon wheel for second base With never a touch of fatigue When I was one of the ragged stars the champs of the Alley League. End of Section 31. Section 32 of baseball ballads.

Starting point is 01:06:39 This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by caveat. Baseball ballads by Grantland Rice. The man who played with Anson are the old Chicago team.

Starting point is 01:06:59 There showed up out in Mudville in the spring of 83 A fella evidently Lott just recovering from a spree He said his name was Casey and he was a sight to view As he walked into the ballpark and inquired for work to do There wasn't any opening for you should understand That was the time when Mudville had a bunch of stars on hand But the stranger lingered telling Mickey Nolan and the rest What an all-fired batting average he possessed when he had

Starting point is 01:07:29 his best. Till finally he stated, quite by chance that it would seem, that he had played with Anson on the old Chicago team. Well, that was quite another thing we owned that any cuss, who'd played with old Pop Anson must be good enough for us. So he took Casey at his word and signed him while we could, well knowing if we didn't that some other ball club would. For Kanaki was looking round for people that could play,

Starting point is 01:07:55 and Pikeball wouldn't overlook this fellow any day. We gave him quite a contract, though it made the others swear, saying we had done them dirty and it wasn't on the square. But we lay back and cackled for the pennant weren't no dream, with a man who played with Anson on the old Chicago team. It made our eyeballs nigh pop out and pop back in again to hear that Casey telling of old Anson and his men by home rounds was so common that nobody waved a hat,

Starting point is 01:08:25 with Williamson King Kelly or fired Pryfer at the bat. A man who didn't hit above, 500 couldn't stick with that old bunch, for Anson would release them mighty quick. They handled ground balls with their teeth and often shut their eyes, while in the act of pulling down the longest, hardest,

Starting point is 01:08:42 hardest flies, and after all the fanning bees each night we used to dream of the fellow who played with Anson on the old Chicago team. But somehow this fellow, Casey, never felt like going in. He spent his time at Wilson's shaking poker dice for gin. Wherever

Starting point is 01:08:58 he was needed, he was always sure a shirk, remarking he would have to wait before he started work. If any other gent had loafed the way he used to do, we'd have fined him fifty dollars every day and benched him too. But you see the fans respected him and backed him to the last, on account of his connections with the diamond in the past, for no one felt like knocking or handling out a call to the man who'd played on Anson's team, the greatest of them all. Well, finally the climax came the big test of the year, and the fans was there in bunches from the country far and near, especially attracted by the statement made that day that having rounded into shake,

Starting point is 01:09:38 Big Casey was to play. The other nine was looking kinder worried and upset, but they wouldn't even listen to an even-money bet. We kidded them and joshed them, but no wagering was done, till at last they placed a thousand at the odds of ten to one. But even at this odds it looked an easy-money scheme, with a man who played with Anson on the old Chicago team. But Casey never drew a chance to shine in any way.

Starting point is 01:10:05 They handed him a base on balls without the least delay. The pitcher didn't seem to care to put one over straight while the man who played with Anson was a standing at the plate. He only had one fly-in left, which bounded off his head. It seemed the sun was shining in his countenance, he said,

Starting point is 01:10:21 and so the people waited in much anger and suspense for Casey's opportunity to drive one through the fence. And it came, oh yes, it landed with a nauseating rap for the man who played with Anson and referred to him as cap. Old Mudville was a run behind when the last inning

Starting point is 01:10:39 came, the base is full and two was out, a hit would win the game. He's got to put it over now, each router waved his hat, and shouted in delirium as Casey stepped to bat. The first two inshoots jumped across the centre of the plate, as Mr. Hanson's colleague's chum found out a bit too late.

Starting point is 01:10:57 The next looked good and Casey swung that became a mighty crack, but the noise originated from the spine in Casey's back. In reaching for that outshut he had wrenched his spinal beam of the man who played with Anson on the old Chicago team. That night we wired Anson to discover it if he knew, a man by the name of Casey, as we felt we ought to do. And when the answer came next day it stirred up quite a fuss. Yes, I remember Casey well. He carried bats for us. We hunted for him quite a spell, but he had gone away,

Starting point is 01:11:32 else the daisies would be blooming over his remains today. But if you land in Mudville on the lookout for some fun, don't ever mention Casey's name, unless you wear a gun. End of Section 32. Section 33 of Baseball Ballads. This is the Liberovacs recording. All Liberovox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.orgs.

Starting point is 01:12:04 recording by Caryad Baseball ballads by Grantland Rice The record When the game is done and the players creep One by one to the league of sleep Deep in the night they may not know The way of the fight, the fate of the foe

Starting point is 01:12:23 And the cheer that passed from applauding bands Is still at last but the record stands The bass hits made and the errors wrought How the game was played how the fight was fought. Though the game be done where the night is deep, and one by one from the field they creep, the day has passed through the twilight gates. But the scroll is cast, and the record waits. End of Section 33. Section 34 of Baseball Ballads. This is a Libervox recording. All Libervox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer,

Starting point is 01:13:08 here. Please visit Librovox.org. Baseball Ballads by Grantland Rice, the Major Leaguer's Daughter, or The Turning of the Tide. They were seated in the parlor where the gas was burning low, and he held her little paw within his own. He looked at her and whispered, Maim, you know I love you so, you've made more hits with me than Fielder's stone.

Starting point is 01:13:32 Your curves look awful good to me, your speed is just my style, but here he stopped and sadly bowed his head. The decision was against him. He was out about a mile, when unto him these cruel words she said. I am the only daughter of a major league phnom, while you are but an unknown Bush League bloke. My old man hits 300 almost every season, Tom, while they tell me your average is a joke. Some day when you are drafted or you have a batting eye, I may listen to the words you have to say. But until you show the goods, take a hike back to the woods, for there's nothing doing here for you to day, day, day. the years went by and tom improved his work began to shine his batting and his fielding were immense his average jumped from oh eight three around four four nine while every day he splintered up some fence

Starting point is 01:14:21 but in the meantime maim's old man began to lose his eye they canned him when his salary whip went dead so tom he passed her up for good and now she wonders why them cruel words unto him once she said I am the only daughter of a major league phenom, while you are but an unknown bush league bloke. My old man hits three hundred almost every season, Tom, while they tell me your average is a joke. Some day when you are drafted or you have a batting eye, I may listen to the words you have to say. But until you show the goods, take a hike back to the woods, for there's nothing doing here for you to day, day, day. End of Section 34 Read by Marcus Shera, Fairfax, Virginia February 24th, 2023

Starting point is 01:15:06 Section 35 of Baseball Ballads This is a Libravox recording All Libravox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit Libravox.org Recording by caveat Baseball Ballads by Grantland Rice Penn's snapshot of the British fan

Starting point is 01:15:34 For eight fleeting innings, the Warwickshire Browns had battled like fiends with the Berkshire Brigade. The groundstand was crowded by fans from the towns, all around who had come out to see the game played. The hitting and fielding was simply immense. No snappier game anywhere could be found. They doubled and tripled and dented the fence, while one-handed pickups were pulled off each round.

Starting point is 01:15:59 With the home team at bats and performer of Braun scored three with a triple, a terrible smash. His Lordship remarked as he stifled a yawn, but he clever old chap and then twirled his moustache. The swap put the Warwickshire bunch in the lead, but when the ninth came every Berkshire had fought hard,

Starting point is 01:16:17 and five of them scored in the hour of need by clouting the leather all over the yard. In the last of the tenth four runs to the bad, the first home man upmade a hurricane swipe. He tripled to centre. That wasn't half bad. Don't you know, said a router. while puffing his pipe. Then followed a double that whistled to right.

Starting point is 01:16:38 Two yeomen applauding were chased from the park. The score was soon tied up with victory in sight. A bar jove mervid won. What a juice of a lark! End of Section 35. Section 36 of baseball ballads. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain.

Starting point is 01:17:02 For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. by caveat. Baseball ballads by Grantman Rice On the coaching line. Get in the game. Smoke up, old scout. We've got to win this scrap today. Take any chance for two are out. Get on your toes and watch the play. Three balls. Wow, wow, wow, I guess he walks. Come back, come back, you ain't so lame.

Starting point is 01:17:30 Say there, you thick-head, watch them balks. Get in the game. Get in the game. Get in the game there, at the bat. Pick out one that suits your eye. I guess those bed. Don't look fat. Don't let a distract like that. Go by. Just watch them over. Make them ride. A hit. A hit. It's all the same. You'll beat it. Slide, you lobster slide. Get in the game. Get in the game. Get in the game no matter which, nor where, nor when, nor who you are. The slogan rings at lofty pitch from inland town to Harbour Bar. From lowly surf to ruling kings, if you would carve a laurel's name. The distaff of the epoch sings. Get in the game. Get in the game. get in the game you merchants and you lawyers doctors preachers too you workmen who compose the band with countless duties yet to do you leaders who must head the line one dumb play may bring lifelong shame watch every signal every sign get in the game get in the game get in the game this age is live and loafers have no part to play if you would win if you would thrive keep on your toes in every fray and if you rise or if you fall it matters not the road to fame but echoes with the worldwide call. Get in the game. Get in the game! End of Section 36.

Starting point is 01:18:53 Section 37 of baseball ballads. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Read by caveat. Baseball ballads by Grantland Rice. The Goods Here's to the guide.

Starting point is 01:19:16 that delivers the goods, gent from the city or geek from the woods, hillside or valley, mountain or plain, sunshine or shadow, or starlight or rain. Any old time or condition of place, take it easy or roughhouse to face, but putting it over and calling the bluff. Here's looking, the guy who delivers the stuff. Here's to the guy that delivers and say, chop out that dope on the look of the day, fake took a wallop and slipped you the quid.

Starting point is 01:19:44 Well, what the hell do we? care if it did. That ain't the tip we are looking for here. Bend down a minute and lend us an ear. Geek from the brushes or guy from the town. Did you deliver? Or did you fall down? End of section 37. Section 38 of baseball ballads. This is a Librevox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visitlibrovox.org. Read by caveat. Baseball Ballads by Grantland Rice The Winter League wonder

Starting point is 01:20:26 Though I've never won a pennant And a race that starts each spring And finish every autumn finds me muchly to the punk Though through June, July and August You can hear the anvil's ring As the critics in a body dub my team a bunch of junk You've got to hand it to me on a silver platter when The summer scrambles over

Starting point is 01:20:48 Though some other mogul wins I'm the one and only wonder of the coming season then, when the last real game is over, and the Winter League begins. Though each October finds me under every rival's heel, 20 games behind the others, do I stop and shed a tear? Not upon your uncle's portrait, I begin right off the reel, lining up my winter legions for a sure first next year. I admit the luck broke badly, and the umpires crimped my chance. I confess to, injured players, and a few less minor sins. Then I jump out in the open and I do a pennant dance when the last real game is over, and the Winter League begins.

Starting point is 01:21:32 The pitches I have gathered when the snow begins to fall are the wonders of the nation, everyone's a hurling king, and my outfield, holy whiskers, how that bunch can hit the ball, when they walk up with the willow from October unto spring. Every player on my payroll is a star of purest ray, till they reach the field of battle, where they're slower on their pins than a stream of cold molasses

Starting point is 01:21:55 and my phenomes fade away, but you've got to hand it to me when the Winter League begins. End of Section 38. Section 39 of baseball ballads. This is a Liberovox recording. All Libervox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer,

Starting point is 01:22:20 please visit Librevox.org. Recording by caveat. Baseball Ballots by Granton Rice A tip to the fan flock Did you ever have the feeling you were all in down and out? As of mud upon your skylight or your brain pan had the gout When you sorted to your office in a semi-hearted way And earned about one-seventh of your wage or daily pay

Starting point is 01:22:45 When your energy had left you and your dizzy dome would throb As you spent the day in yawning or fore-flushing on your job well, if you have you are human, so while out among the crowd, in the grandstand or the bleachers, shouting curses long and loud, at some boot or costly bobble, let the old dope trickle through, that perhaps the second basement has the same old feeling too. While sparring with the cash book or the ledger in your den, don't you feel a brainstorm blowing in your noodle now and then? When the numbers dance around you while you're ripping, raving, mad, that's the pesky, peevish, figures of the columns failed to add. When your orbs feel dry and blinky and the harder that you look, all the more the figures jumble on the pages of your book.

Starting point is 01:23:32 It's a cinch you've had the feeling, so before you seek the gore, or some indicator-weilder from decisions block to score. Stop and figure for a second, let the old dope trickle through, that the umpire is entitled to his little off day two. End of section 39. Section 40 of baseball ballads. This is a Libra of Oxford. recording, all Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer,

Starting point is 01:24:04 please visit Libravox.org. Recording by caveat. Baseball ballads by Grantland Rice. As the game breaks. Mulligan catches the ball on the snout. It's just where he likes it. He smashes it out. Biff, on the trade market, whirles like a shot. They're yelling and cheering all over the lot. A shout that are groan from the well-crowded stands. The drive travels straight to the outfield hands, two feet to the left or two feet to the right, and Mulligan's swat would have captured the fight, just a matter of inches from out of the line, changing from star to a mutt and a shine, just two stingy feet. Aye, there is the rub. He didn't hit safe, so they call him a dub. Pat Flaherty gets one that isn't his kind, but he closes his orbs and swings at it blind.

Starting point is 01:24:50 It was a weak sister-swat, and not one half as stout, as the one which poor Mulligan slammed on the snout, yet the bleachers arose with a yelp and a screech, as it twisted just out of an infielder's reach. It broke up the game, a yet only two feet, closer in, and the tap would have been easy meat. Just a matter of inches, a bit further down, changed him from a dub to a star of renown. Just two pesky feet, but it ended the game.

Starting point is 01:25:13 So they plastered a new-made cigar with his name. You'll find it the same upon life's massive chart. The star and the dub are but inches apart. One smashes out hard, but his drive never lands, as it travels direct to another one's hands. The next fellow's effort is purely and tame, Yet it hits the right spot and so gathers him fame. It's the law of the age from the century is brought.

Starting point is 01:25:34 The bunt may roll safe while the hard smash is caught. You may strive twice as hard for the rich prize at stake, but the fellow that wins is the one with the break. End of Section 40. Section 41 of Baseball Ballads. This is a Librevox recording. All Liberovacs recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visitlibrovox.org.

Starting point is 01:26:04 Recording by caveat. Baseball Ballads by Grantland Rice The grand old Winter League Here's the league where they all hit 300 Here's to the league where they all bagged the flag Here's to the wonderful mighty and thunderful Swat of the artist who's springing the gag Springing the gag while the old stove is roaring

Starting point is 01:26:26 Speeeling of games that he won in a pinch Fence-breaking hammerer Clean him up slammerer Where every pitcher he faced was a cinch Here's the league where they've all cinch the pennant cinch with a line-up that's keen on the job, wherein the bing time of oncoming springtime every guy signed

Starting point is 01:26:42 as a second tie-cob. Hale to the Wagners and dashing young Matthewsons, there with the speed and the curves and control, swift-footed, heady, keen-eyed and steady, already sowing the flag to the pall. Here's to the league where the hapless tail-ender rises each year to the crest of the game, where there is never an artist, unclever,

Starting point is 01:27:02 never a star that is injured or lame, where for a spell or the umpires are honest where every mogul has shown keen intrigue hip for the dope from the circuit of hope hail to the glorious typewriter league end of section forty one section forty two of baseball ballads by grantland rice this is a librivox recording all librivox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit librivox dot hog recording by caveat baseball ballads by grantland rice The slide of Paul Revere Listen, fanatics, and you shall hear Of the midnight slide of Paul Revere, How he scored from first on an outfield drive By a dashing sprint and a headlong dive, It was the greatest play pulled off that year.

Starting point is 01:28:01 Now the home of poets and potted bean, Emersonian ways and means, In baseball epic has often been sung, Since the days of Krieger and old sigh young, but not even fleet, dear-footed bay could have pulled off any such fancy play as a slide of P. Revere which won the famous battle of Lexington.

Starting point is 01:28:21 The Yanks and the British were booked that trip in a scrap for the New World Championship, but the British landed a bit too late so the game didn't open till half-past eight and Paul Revere was dreaming away when the Empire issued his call for play. On, on they fought beneath the Boston moon, as the British figures, not yet, but soon,

Starting point is 01:28:42 for the out were against the yanks that night, with Paul Revere blocked away from the fight, and the grandstand gathering groaned in woe, while the sad whale bubbled from Rooters row. But wake, hast, hearken, and likewise hark. What means that galloping near the park? What means that cry of a dead man saw? Am I too late? Say, what's the score?

Starting point is 01:29:04 An echo answered both far and near, as the Routers shouted, there's Paul Revere. Oh, how sweetly that moon did shine, when P. Revere took the coaching line. He woke up the grandstand from its trance and made the bleachers get up and dance. He joshed the British with robust shout,

Starting point is 01:29:22 until they booted the ball about. He whooped and he clamoured all over the lot, till the score was tied in a Gordian knot. Now, in this part of the dope recooked, are the facts which history overlooked, how Paul Revere came to bat that night, and suddenly ended the long-drawn fight, how he single to centre, then straight away,

Starting point is 01:29:41 dashed on to second like Harry Bay. Kept on travelling with the speed of a bird, till he whizzed like a meteor rounding third. Hold back, you lobster, but all in vain. The coaches shouted in tones of pain, for Paul kept on with a swinging stride, and he hit the ground when they hollered, slide! Spectacular plays may come and go,

Starting point is 01:30:02 in the hurry of time's swift ebb and flow, but never again will there be one, like the first American hit and run, and as long as the old game lasts you'll hear of the midnight slide of P. Revere. End of Section 42. Section 43 of Baseball Ballads. This is a Librevox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by caveat.

Starting point is 01:30:38 Baseball ballads by Grantland Rice. The annual return One by one there drifting back Hank McGee to Hackensack Pat McGuire the world-famed spitter Mike the Bight 300 hitter Jim and Ed and Bill and Jack One by one there drifting back

Starting point is 01:30:58 With their curves they're keen intrigue To the swift grass cutters league One by one they leave and go Back again to Kokomo Can Kaki and rural where they cast a mystic spell. On the scouts who touted them, each a human diadem.

Starting point is 01:31:18 In a serried line return with their curves and speed to burn. One by one they fade away. To the fragrant, uncut hay, second Wagners, second cobs, back upon their old-time jobs. In the fried ham circuit where they were stars with some despair,

Starting point is 01:31:36 where they played with famedilat, in the field and at the bat. one by one they file back home to the sweet scent of the loam, yet but one brief month ago they were making Walsh look slow. Each the phenome of the age flashed upon the sporting age, as the greatest of them all when it came to plain ball. Pounding on the beaten track Hank McGee to Hackensack, Pat McGuire to Cancackeke, Mike to sunny Tennessee,

Starting point is 01:32:06 in a serried line return with their curves and speed to burn, batting eyes and keen in tree to the swift grass-cutters league. End of Section 43. Section 44 of Baseball Ballads. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by caveat.

Starting point is 01:32:39 Baseball balance by Grant and Rice. In the good old wintertime, an old fan saturday. one day at a table small and round. Drinking every kind of liquid which in that place could be found. He had 47 chances and he never fumbled one, catching sixteen sparkling highballs ere he scored his first home run. And while setting at that table he began to read the dope,

Starting point is 01:33:06 which depicted every manager in front-up pennant slope. But soon in dreamy fancy from the page he turned away, and to the nearby barkeep these idle words did say. in the good old winter time in the good old winter time how swiftly from the bottom all the tail-end people climb they call each new recruit a peach although he's a lime oh how they nature fake us in that good old winter time the months rolled by and spring had come and there on route as row the same fan sat with eyes ablaze and reddy cheeks aglow he saw the second wagner strike out four times in one game while seven ghastly errors were chalked up against his name. He saw the sterling pitcher who had starred at Rural Falls, yield 19 massive bingles and a dozen base on balls. And then above the battle and the rattle of the fray, he softly hummed the chorus of that far-gone winter day. In the good old wintertime. In the good old wintertime.

Starting point is 01:34:08 How swiftly from the bottom all the tail-end people climb. By summer almost every peach turns out to be a line, oh how they nature fake us, in the good old wintertime. End of Section 44. Section 45 of baseball ballads. This is Liberovox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by Cabiatt.

Starting point is 01:34:43 Baseball ballads by Grantland Rice. After the game. Now that the hard-fought day is ended with laurels for the favoured few, the cheering and the cheering blended in praise or blame that may be due now that the score has been completed beyond the shallow depths of fame among both victors and defeated

Starting point is 01:35:08 we'll turn to those who played the game not in the losing or the winning success nor failure for the day but from the battle's first beginning we'll take up their work play by play how well they tried how they stood ready, beyond the world's crowd's narrow sight,

Starting point is 01:35:29 we'll left our glasses bravely steady, and drink to those who fought the fight. The game has done, the fight completed. What matters now who reach the goal? Alike the victor and defeated, wait for the final scorers' scroll. And those

Starting point is 01:35:45 who look may read the story of star by star against each name said over those with world one glory the list of those who played the game. End of section 45. Section 46 of baseball balance. This is Libravox recording.

Starting point is 01:36:08 All Liberovox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by caveat. Baseball ballads by Grantman Rice. On Routers Row, 1. We've got a swell chance now to cop with that guy at the bat. Why, say that hobo couldn't hit the ball, yard with his hat. If he was in a steamboat and he blew up in a wreck, he couldn't hit the water

Starting point is 01:36:36 if it tumbled off his deck. I paid me month's rent four times since he stung one on the snout, and what I'm saying to you is that slump in sung old scout. Two runs to tie the bass's chokes we got him are to the mat, and then a piece of cheese like him comes wobbling to the bat. Bing, oh de nose, oh wow, oh wow, beyond the field is mitt. Say, where's the blooming guy what said that lobster couldn't hit. I guess he didn't get to that glass bender with the wood, and wasn't I just telling you how I know the hobo wood?

Starting point is 01:37:07 Tree runs across the blooming plate and now the scraps a cinch. There never was a guy like him to clamp one in a pinch. Around the nose across the lot, beyond the outfield's reach, and wasn't I just telling you that lobster was a peach? Two.

Starting point is 01:37:23 Say maybe this ain't pie today with Mickey on the hill. They couldn't beat that sucker if he handed him de pill. He ain't lost one in 14 weeks And any time they get A base hit when he's working Right, just sue me for the debt. You've got to hand it to him

Starting point is 01:37:38 Bow and dat's no foolish tip He makes those blooming batters Look like chickens with de pip I'll take me bonnet off to him He keeps us in the race For minus him I bet me coat We'd be in seventh place Two doubles and a base on balls

Starting point is 01:37:55 Herein the opening round I wonder why the manager leaves that mut on the mound Another hit, another pass. See here, you crazy lout. Why don't you warm a pitcher up and take that bonehead out? Who said that die could pitch a ball? There goes another pass. That muckering got smoke enough to crack a plane of glass.

Starting point is 01:38:13 The minute he walked in the box I knowed we'd hit the ditch. And wasn't I just telling you that hobo couldn't pitch? End of section 46. Section 47 of baseball ballads. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public. domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librevox.org. Read by caveat, baseball ballads by Grant and Rice.

Starting point is 01:38:47 The love sonnets of a son of swat. One. Take it from me this single league shine. My heart got batted from the box today. For when we met the dope says right away, she bats 300 on the peaches nine. I'd draft her now if I thought she would sign. and help me divvy up the season's pay. I pitched this at her, but my grandstand play. Went wild, says she, No Bush League dub for mine. Say, she's the big league kid, or I'm a skate.

Starting point is 01:39:17 For every time I come up, sit like that. She shoots those lamps of hers across the plate, and I strike out like Casey on a bat. But when she curves one over from those eyes, three strikes and out is just about my size, too. Speaking of curves, say on the level, she'd make Waddell look like a dinky-dink, and Eddie Rulback straight without a kink, for she's all curves from neck four feet below, out curves and inshoots all there in a row.

Starting point is 01:39:50 Compared to hers, Ed planks are on the blink. If Huey Jennings sees her, I don't think Wild Build next year will get a chance to show. I've played some games that I've tried hard to win, but this is my World Series championship, and if I lose, back to the minor bin. For your young uncle, that's my one best tip. Tonight I'll call and risk an awful freeze by showing her just how to work the squeeze. Three. Say, I'm the lemon leaver on a slump.

Starting point is 01:40:22 In Love's ball game, the bench is where I sit. I couldn't file one over, much less make a hit. Or tie the game up with a timely thump. I had a chance to make good on the jump. But when I tried to grab her little mitt, I dropped it first and then I fumbled it. playing the game like some bone-headed chump. But when at last I got my eye and tried to work the squeeze,

Starting point is 01:40:44 she coached me to my place. Get back, she warbled. Slide, you lobster, slide. Don't take too long a lead off your base. Just play it safe, you mutt, first time at bat. Is not the place to spring a play like that. Four. This game of love is not my longest,ute.

Starting point is 01:41:03 Doping it out has put wheels in my bun. Just as you think you've done. got the pennant won, bum luck will land you on the soapy shoot. You come back hard, but every time you boot, each chance you get until the game is done, and when at last you need the tying run, there ain't no bleacher bugs to rise and root.

Starting point is 01:41:23 I doped it out the first time that we faced, to warm up good until I got to control, and then to curve a fast one round her waist, hoping this way to put her in a hole. Such was my dope, but, as I said before, The dope is not what makes the full box score. Five. Ah, love, indeed, thou art a heartless game.

Starting point is 01:41:45 The gong rings out, the emperor shouts, play ball. You gaily rush out until you hear her call. Back up, back up, your salary whip is lame. What batting average stands against your name? In Duns or Bradstreet's little guide to all, you can't tag love inside a cottage wall, minus the gate receipts, not with this dame. nix not for mine says she fine chance to win we'd have with landlord on the rival team with grocer butcher fielding up our tin and smashing liners into love's young dream yours for a steady job with no fatigue before i sign with any fireside league

Starting point is 01:42:24 six much like the mutt with the home plate well in sight who sprints on in with long stake-winning stride bringing the tying run with bulging pride as hope wants more soars upward like a kite who thinks he's got it beat all right all right while thousands clamour hit the dirt bare slide when over all the tumult far and wide the umpire shrieks you're out in mad delight so i got mine in true o'loughlin's style Just when I thought the game would be a tie, her old man yelled, You're out about a mile, and waved me back with murder in his eyes. I'm acting umpire in this park, says he, So don't you pass no funny talk with me? 7. So moves life's game wherever we may go. At every base some empire stands and waits,

Starting point is 01:43:17 a delegate shipped earthward by the fates, who has it in for players here below. We drive one safe inside three feet or so, The robber umpire struts around and states that it went foul. We know his eyes ain't mates. But foul it stands and so the scorebooks go. But I ain't through. Perhaps in 198, if I can act like Tyrus Cobb at bat,

Starting point is 01:43:41 I'll get a chance to sign a running mate and pitch my park within a two-room flat. 5,000 per mite, clear her old man's vision and make him change that other bum decision. End of Section 47. of baseball ballads. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by caveat. Baseball ballads by Grantland Rice.

Starting point is 01:44:28 At the end of the game, when I have heard the final umpire's call wring out across the diamond of my strife, that end the little game which we call life. I shall not care about the score at all. How well I fielded, how I hit the ball, nor all the shouting and tumult rife, nor shouts have scorned at once cut like a knife. These shall not matter in the endless pall. These shall not matter on that final day, when life's game passes with the setting sun. If I but hear the mighty umpires say, the records show no pennant you have won, no brilliant average that brings you fame, yet you go up because you played the game. End of Section 48.

Starting point is 01:45:21 49 of baseball ballads. This is a Libra of Oaks recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by caveat. Baseball ballads by Grant and Rice. The Mughal's Dream. One night the Mughal died and straight his soul set forth upon its journey to the goal.

Starting point is 01:45:47 Of all good people, but the gate was locked. So while he shivered in the cold, he knocked. once but twice he rapped with all his might upon the pearly entrance barred and tight. Who comes, St. Peter cried with all that din. It's me, the magnate cried, please let me in. And who are you, he heard the good saints say, that you should hear the golden harps, I pray. What have you done upon that earth so drear that you should mingle with the angels here? I was the manager, he straight replied, the mogul of a ball team ere I died. And what means that, replied the saint, pray tell.

Starting point is 01:46:24 It means that all you ever get is, well, I won't repeat the word I had in mind, and yet no other fits that I can find. Through fall and winter every year I plan, To gather in a pennant-winning clan, I labour hard from early morn till night, In search of talent anywhere in sight. Right off the reel, my pitches one by one blow up, And then my catches are undone,

Starting point is 01:46:46 And for my trouble of what get-eye in thanks? the fiendish yelp of twenty thousand cranks My life was one of fiendish piercing woe, The roughest on that unkept plain below, Aye, to the full I've drunk life's bitter dregs, Hist jeered out, pelted with decrepit eggs, And to what end I have come in the spring, Only to hear the anvil chorus ring.

Starting point is 01:47:10 The envoy, Come, enter quick, Sir Peter then replied, Heaven's joyous are such as you are not denied, Choose any harp among these scenes of mirth. Oh, hapless soul, you had your hell on earth. End of Section 49. Section 50 of Baseball Ballads. This is a Libravox recording.

Starting point is 01:47:36 All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit livervox.org. Baseball ballads by Grant and Rice. Hard luck, Adam. Adam had no Easter hat to buy. for Mrs. Eve. Adam had no cost of living troubles to grieve. Adam had no job to hold by slaving day or night, and in columns beating carpets, planning stuff to write. Adam had a hectic cinch played across the boards, everything that nature

Starting point is 01:48:10 and an idle life affords, and yet I wouldn't change with him, whatever be my loss. He never saw the triple drive the winning run across. Adam had no dress to buy To calm his spouse's grief All that Adam had to do was go and pull a leaf Back in Father Adam's day long and long ago There was not an Aldridge nor a crusty Uncle Joe Raving politicians never roamed about the land

Starting point is 01:48:37 Double-crossing voters in a way to beat the band But with it all poor Adam never had a chance to dream Of bold 300 hitters and a pennant winning team Adam lived on Easy Street dreaming in the sun. Never had a policeman there to cut in on his fun. Never had a cook around threatening to leave. Bridge was not invented in the early days of Eve.

Starting point is 01:48:59 Take it up and down the line in those golden days. Adam had it on us in a hundred different ways. And yet with all his blessings, what a dull and massive pall. For poor old father Adam never saw a game of ball. End of Section 50. Section 51 of Baseball Ballads. This is a Librivox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain.

Starting point is 01:49:32 For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, read by Brea Holmes. Baseball Ballads by Grantlin Rice Denton Sy Young The Grand Old Man of Baldin faces his 20th season as a major league slabman with every indication that it will be. among his best campaigns. Fame may be fleeting and glory may fade. Life at its best is a breath on the gale. One hero passes, another is made. New stars arise as the old one sets pale. So when a stalwart steps out

Starting point is 01:50:18 from the throng, on with the tribute, let garlands be flung. Here's to the sturdy and here's to the strong. Here's to the king of them all, Denton Young. Anson has passed like a star in the night. Richardson's name from the lineup is cast. Rousie and Latham are out of the fight. Mighty Buck Ewing is buried in past. Clarkson, the wizard, and Kelly, and Gore linger no more on the fan's fickle tongue. Only one name flashes out as of yore.

Starting point is 01:50:55 there on the red line of battle is young. Tiernan and Tucker, we wait for reply. Jack Ward and Pfeffer are out of the game. No chair rises when brothers steps by. Even Ben Haltren is only a name. Meechian and Hoffer and Kind Bid McPhee. Their day is over. Their songs are all sun.

Starting point is 01:51:21 Low, like the roar of the storm-haired sea, swells the wild chorus for Denton Sy Young. Herman's longs, only a memory now. Big Dell is under the Myrtle today. No more the laurel is bound to his brow. Bob Lowe and Zimmer have passed from the fray. Where are the heroes saluted of old, heroes to whom through the years we have clung,

Starting point is 01:51:50 have all deserted the clan of the bold, not while the echoes are ringing for young. Brightonstein, Phillips, and Weyheng and Knops, Han, Rines, and Corbett and Dr. McJames. Where are their shoots and their puzzling drops? Who cheers today when you mention their names? Lost in the Shadows, their story is told. On memories, ramparts, their pictures are hung. But here in the limelight is great as of old.

Starting point is 01:52:23 Looms up the stalwart, the only. Say Young. Where's the mighty Dary Rimbol? Today, Miller and Denny and Kuppie the slide. Show me their names in the lineup, I pray. Vainly await for an answering cry. Few of us stand to the guns through the years. Once at a time, from the heights we are flung. Heroes soon pass in this valley of tears. But here's to the king of them all. Denton, Young. End of Section 51. Read by Brea Holmes, Riverview, Florida, 3-8-2023.

Starting point is 01:53:13 Section 52 of Baseball Ballads. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by Caviatt. Baseball Ballads by Granton Rice. The ump's midwinter dream. It was a sunny day in spring.

Starting point is 01:53:37 The warbling birds were all a wing. An April sky of azure hue, enchanted the fanatics view, and sultry was the atmosphere, upon the first game of the year. Upon the field his umps appeared, and low the thron arose and cheered, while all around with fife and drums played hail the conquering hero comes. The game began, and to the plate the first. man wandered up seat eight. Strike one, strike two, strike three, you're out.

Starting point is 01:54:07 The umpire waited for the shout. Overaged him all around, but not a murmur burbled from the lot. The player bowed and walked away without another word to say. Nor pause would language somewhat free, impuging his ancestral tree. Nobody had a kick to make, however costly his mistake. And when a foul tip off the bat came hurling by and knocked him flat, in sympathy the pleaches sat with satant hearts and tear-dimmed eyes, until once more they saw him rise. He was to player and to fan, a scholar and a gentleman, while every paper in the land was boasting him

Starting point is 01:54:43 to beat the band, and then in joy he gave a shout, and woke to find his pipe was out. End of Section 52. Section 53 of Baseball Ballads. This is a Librevox recording. All Librevox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librabox.org. Recording by caveat. Baseball ballads by Grantland Rice. A real job for Teddy. Teddy, when your work is through in the presidential chair,

Starting point is 01:55:26 when another takes the shift where you've learned to do and dare, you will need another job, one that's a monstrosity, that will soak up day by day all your strenuosity. It must be a husky job, full of. of smoke and fire to boot, and in looking round I've found only one I know will suit, only one where your big stick will be needed day by day, only one to fit in Ted with your rough and tumble way, only one where in the end you will some day long for rest, where your energy will wane and your spirit be depressed. You will find it different from any nature-faking

Starting point is 01:56:02 fuss. You will find it harder than mawling up the octopus. It will be a rougher job than a charge up San Juan Hill, or a battle with the trusts, it will take a stronger will. Fighting predatory wealth of the kings of high finance, calling railroad moguls, down will not be a circumstance. All in all, it will suit you fine, never having been afraid, of what

Starting point is 01:56:26 else upon this earth you should be an umpire, Ted. That's the only job for you. Take our tip now, Theodore. Think of how your pulse will leap when you hear the angry roar. There, your nerve can have full play. You will find the action there, which you've hunted for in vain from your presidential chair. Chasing African lions and such,

Starting point is 01:56:49 catching grizzlies will seem tame. Lined up with a jolt you'll get in the thick of some hard game. Choking hungry wolves to death as a sport will stack up roar. When you see Kid Elberfield swinging for your under jaw, when you hear Hugh Jennings roar, Callum strikes you lump of cheese, or McGraw comes rushing out, kicking at your shins and knees,

Starting point is 01:57:11 when the bleachers stand and shout, robber, liar, thief and dub, you'll be sorry for the gents in your Anaya's club. You'll find it a different thing from making peace with old Japan, that when you've called a strike on O'Connor or McCann, holding California back isn't quite the same, I'll state, as calling Devlin out on a close one at the plate.

Starting point is 01:57:34 Though I've hunted far and near, there's nothing else to do, where you'll get what's coming, Ted, all that's coming unto you. You should be an empire, Ted, and I'll bet two weeks would be quite enough to curve your rash, headlong strenuosity.

Starting point is 01:57:50 End of section 53. Section 54 of baseball ballads. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Read by caveat. Baseball ballads by Grantland Wright.

Starting point is 01:58:14 The shock, if I should die tonight, And as with folded arms in death I lay, Arrayed in shrouds of linen, pure and white, Some router should bend over me and say, Oh boy, I'm sorry that you're down and out, I hope you'll get to heaven, for you're square, I've seen you umpire many a hard-fought bout. Without one bum decision, I can swear.

Starting point is 01:58:43 If he said that, Although my soul was even then a spook, I'd rise at once in my large white cravat, to get one look at him, one final look. I'd make him pass me out that dope once more, the same quaint words that he had used before. Yes, I'd rise up till he was done, and then I'd drop back dead again. End of Section 54. Section 55 of baseball ballads. This is a Librevox recording.

Starting point is 01:59:18 All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. more information or to volunteer, please visit Liprovox.org. Read by Elise D. Baseball Ballots by Grantlin Rice When Wifee reads Dope. Seated at the breakfast table on a sultry summer's day, Mrs. Smith picked up the paper in a careless, idle way, threw her lamps on social items, noted quickly up and down,

Starting point is 01:59:44 names of lucky favored people who had blown away from town in this steamy August weather, till at last her restless glance, fell upon the sporting section, and she lingered in a trance. Mr. Smith was eating bacon, which the same as you should know is widespread breakfast fodder anywhere you choose to go, and his jaw was working deftly like the handle of a pump, when he heard an exclamation from his wife that made him jump. What's the matter, he responded, with his appetite well-sated? Why those frowns upon your forehead? Why those eyeballs so dilated? Tell me this, she said and shuddered. Tell me what this means

Starting point is 02:00:22 I pray. Nothing but the gallant playing of Mike Johnson saved the day. With the score tied in the seventh and the combat gliding by, Mike dashed out and byfast sprinting, swallowed Piggy Jones long fly. Good for Mike, her husband answered, he's the goods, I always knew it. Swallowed Jones fly, she murmured. Tell me how the man could do it. Then she read, with mighty bludgeon's in their midst, the demon socks hopped on Waddell in the pinches, hammered him out of the box, shot him full of poisoned arrows, drove him to the uncut woods, walloped all the wadding from him, for he didn't have the goods. This is awful, said she, frowning.

Starting point is 02:01:05 Why should he have drawn such a beating? But then her husband only snickered and again turned to his eating. Look at this, she stammered, paling. Han got bumped up upon the bean. umpire sheridan's decision threw a smell like gasoline jones was punctured in the lattice walsh's benders broke their backs for they couldn't even hit him with a shotgun or an axe baseball must be very wicked said she with puzzled face yes it's hell her husband answered when your team ain in the race end of section 55 section 56 of baseball ballots this is a librovox recording all livervox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Recording by caveat. Baseball Ballads by Grantman Rice

Starting point is 02:02:00 A hard luck yarn. While reposing one day in me leisurely way, a puffing of wicked shrewt, I happens to spy with a glance of me eye, a gent in a major league suit. I know who ye are, you're a major league star, says I, or you once used to be. Well, jig me neck, but your dope is correct,

Starting point is 02:02:20 was the answer he handed to me. And he mutters, says he, I have a story for ye, which I want ye to put in the paper for me. It was quite a while back, if me dope is exact, when I was a blooming recruit. I had just busted in from a minor league bend,

Starting point is 02:02:34 with a try at a major league suit. When the following tale, which will make you turn pale, happened one day to me in a game, and I think you'll agree when you hear it from me, that I wasn't hardly to blame. It was the opening fray of the season that day, and the bases was full as a goat.

Starting point is 02:02:51 And the pitcher he smiled in a manner which riled as I swallowed a lump in my throat. And he winged one across with a deft easy toss and it bubbled along at my waist. And I swung till me bat gave a horrible crack, but I gave it a terrible paste. The ball rizzed and sailed till the people

Starting point is 02:03:07 all paled and when it turned into a vanishing speck. My hands was swelled up like fat poisoned pup while the bat I was used was a wreck. Clean over the ocean like lightning and motion it, to whizzled and whirled and whirled, and whirled, over China, Japan It bounded and ran

Starting point is 02:03:20 To travel the length of the world With the most vicious swipe It dismantled the pipe In the mouth of King Edward at tea And it veered to the Rhine Where it busted a stine Which de Kaisa was holding, you see And he gave quite a jar

Starting point is 02:03:33 To the badly scarred Tsar When it toppled his throne to the ground But it went on its way With the speed of H-Bay With a hop and a skip and abound That night with a sigh And a tear in his eye The captain gave me my release

Starting point is 02:03:45 For the President why That it had to be fired with the good of the country and peace. He hits him too hard and too far from the yard with the message the President sent. He has raised complications with the neighbourly nations and I am a peaceable gent. So they turned me adrift and I gave up my shift

Starting point is 02:04:01 and that's why I'm out of the game. I was too blooming good, or I'm certain I would, have acquired quite a notable name. End of Section 56. Section 57 of baseball ballads. This is a Liberalvox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org.

Starting point is 02:04:28 Recording by caveat. Baseball ballads by Grantland Rice A Fans Diary March 15th We have the greatest team this year Beneath the Shining Sun I've studied up the dope on them Yes, every blooming one

Starting point is 02:04:45 Our field is our spectacular And you will throw a fit When you discover how this bunch can play the game And hit Our manager, Mike Johnson, He is the only one best bet. He knows exactly what to do and what new men to get. They say he's a wonder at developing a team,

Starting point is 02:05:01 and on the side he always has some pennant-winning scheme. Jack Smith's a star at second base, while Jones is great a third. Young Riley is a Matthewson, and Jackson is a bird. You'll never find a better pair upon the firing line. The very ones to give this town a pennant-winning nine. There's no more use in talking we've got the old flag cinched. I can see that banner waving with a pennant, good a spin. Right from the start it looks to me a runaway this year.

Starting point is 02:05:27 I hope we don't break up the race. This is my only fear. April 15th. Arrah! The season started. The opening games today. The fans are swarming to the park to see our heroes play. The whole downtown is turning out to get in on the fun and cheer the team that has the flag already good as one. They have a silver loving cup for Johnson and a cane. They have every other player. Oh, they're raving wild insane.

Starting point is 02:05:53 They're cheering like Comanches or impatient for the prey To see our team jump in and take the lead on opening day May 15th Cheer up, the race ain't over yet, although our prospects frayed What matter if the team has dropped the first 12 games they played It makes no difference routers that were on the bottom run Remember fans before you knock the season's very young June 15th

Starting point is 02:06:19 Say Johnson, fire that Riley, he's a lemon through and through Who told you Smith could play the game and Jones is rotten too? Can that big-up deduction now and throw him off the nine? The infield you signed for us is something of a shine. July 1st. I've seen some awful yellow teams in my day, I'll admit. But say, this bunch can't catch a cold. They neither field nor hit.

Starting point is 02:06:45 Say, this is on the level. I could not believe my eyes. The day I saw that outfield squad drop 14 easy flies. When a shortstop makes 12 errors in one game, He's getting stale. The time has come to ride him out of town upon a rail. And when a pitcher passes up a dozen men per game, I wouldn't like to say it, but I know his proper name.

Starting point is 02:07:07 July 15th. Say, fire that Johnson right away, you guys own the club. He's nothing but a wooden-headed, drunken brainless dub. He's a holy show as manager, as I said from the first. You've got to hand it to him as the one and only worst. October 1st. Arrah, the season's over and I'm glad this race has passed. I know we finished in the rut this year a hopeless last.

Starting point is 02:07:32 We didn't do a blooming thing but hit the shoots and slump. But next year, keep your eye on us. We'll be there from the jump. End of Section 57. Section 58 of Baseball Ballads. This is a liverybox recording. All liverybox recordings are in the public domain. For more informational to volunteer, please visit liverybox.org.

Starting point is 02:08:02 baseball ballads by grantland rice game called game called across the field of play the dusk has come the hour is late the fight is done and lost or won the player files out through the gate the tumult dies the cheer is hushed the stands are bare the park is still but through the night they're the light of home beyond the silent hill game called where in the golden light the bugle rolled the revelee the shadows creep where night falls deep and taps has called the end of play the game is done the score is in the final cheer and jeer of past but in the night beyond the fight the player finds his rest at last game called upon the field of life the darkness gathers far and wide the dream is done the score is spun that stands forever in the guide nor victory nor yet defeat is chalked against the player's name but down the roll the final scroll shows only how he played the game Baseball Ballads by Gratlin Rice.

Classic Audiobook Collection - Baseball Ballads by Grantland Rice ~ Full Audiobook [poetry]

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