(no subject)
The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Fort Coon nine that day,
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play.
And then when Ghostface died at first, and Chaney did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair.
The rest clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast.
They thought, "if only Stacey could but get a whack at that.
We'd put up even money now, with Stacey at the bat."
But Julio preceded Stacey, as did also D-Block now;
and the former was a homo, while the latter was a brown.
So upon that stricken multitude, grim melancholy sat;
for there seemed but little chance of Stacey getting to the bat.
But Juliet let drive a single, to the wonderment of all.
And Block, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball.
And when the dust had lifted,
and men saw what had occurred,
there was Bah safe at second and Homo a-hugging third.
Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
it rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
it pounded through on the mountain and then came a cat;
Stacey, mighty Stacey, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Stacey's manner as he stepped into his place,
there was pride in Stacey's bearing as a drink was put to Stacey's face.
And when, responding to the beers, he lightly doffed his hat,
no stranger in the crowd could doubt t'was Stacey at the bat.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his paws with dirt.
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his fur.
Then, while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hips,
defiance flashed in Stacey's eye, a beer curled Stacey's lips.
And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
and Stacey stood a-watching it in tipsy grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped --
"Rum and Coke!," demanded Stacey.
"Strike one!" the umpire said.
From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
but Stacey pounded a Natty and they knew that there’d be more.
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone caught in awe,
and it's likely they'd have killed him had not Stacey raised his paw.
With a smile of Kitten charity, great Stacey's visage shone,
he stilled the rising tumult, he bade the drinks go on.
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun sphere flew,
but Stacey’s having another, and the umpire said, "Strike two!"
"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!"
But one drunken look from Stacey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
and they knew that Stacey wouldn't let that ball go by again.
The sneer has fled from Stacey's lip, the teeth are clenched in hate.
He pounds, with cruel violence, his beer upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
and now the air is shattered by the force of Stacey's blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright.
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere there’s Natty Light.
And, somewhere men are laughing, and little children shout,
but there is no joy in Fort Coon --
mighty Stacey has passed out.