Oh let’s take that trip to Bermuda,
And so get away from it all–
Especially that guy in the office
Who blats all day long of… BASEBALL.
For it’s baseball he plays at the cooler;
It’s baseball he’s at as he works;
It’s baseball he talks to the bosses,
With sly winks and nudges and smirks.
The first thing each morning, he’s at it,
Taking last evening’s shindy apart;
Until, when we dodge him at lunch-time,
All of us know it by heart.
He doesn’t walk in his sleep–he runs bases.
His mentality’s geared to the game:
“You shoulda seen Urgumwitz slug it,
And the pitchin’ by—uh—whut’s his name.
“That run we pulled off in the seventh;
That double we sprung in the third—“
And though I’m eleven desks from him,
I still catch his every word.
The afternoon wears away slowly–
I’m weary at four, but HIM? He’s
Tearing around in the outfield,
His tongue hanging down to his knees.
The players may call the game over;
The umpires their way homeward wend;
But Jamesy will keep the play going–
Day after day without end.
Yes, LET’S take that trip to Bermuda,
And LET’S get away from it all–
September; –baseball’s about over,
But YOU KNOW WHAT THEY PLAY IN THE FALL!!
by Ray Romine Wednesday, September 13, 1944
