A man on third, with two men out,
Two runs would win the game;
Could he but make a home-run clout,
Deathless would be his fame,
He gave his grimy pants a hitch,
And spat upon his hands;
His cap he gave a nervous twitch
And faced the howling stands,
“Three balls!” a bellow of delight!
“Two strikes!” the umpire said,
He knocked the next one out of sight —
And then fell out of bed.
– ANONYMOUS, 1914
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