Old poem… don’t really have an entry due tot he torture of the give and take….
Baseball… The greater Passtime…
The grass is green,
and newly cut,
on a bright and glorious day.
The stands are full with people cheering,
who came out, to watch them play
The pitcher, the catcher, the rightfielder,
The man at shortstop and second base,
These and the others are called upon,
To boost the home team’s play.
They go through the innings,
And at the end: haven’t both teams won?
For to play the game of baseball,
is the most glourious thing to be won.
© 1992 John P. Fontana