The Mighty Soso

[Guest Ncorgbl]

The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Wrigleyville nine that day,

The score stood nine to six, with but one inning more to play.

 

And then when Karros died at first, and Gonzales 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 Samme could but get a whack at that.

We'd put up even money now, with Samme at the bat."

 

But Lofton preceded Samme, as did also Grudzielanek;

and the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake.

 

So upon that stricken multitude, grim melancholy sat;

for there seemed but little chance of Samme getting to the bat.

 

 

Then from fortyfive 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 recoiled upon the flat;

for Soso, mighty Samme, was advancing to the bat.

 

There was ease in Samme's manner as he stepped into his place,

there was pride in Soso's bearing and a smile lit Soso's face.

 

And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,

no stranger in the crowd could doubt t'was Casey at the bat.

 

100 thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt.

FortyFive thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.

 

Then, while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,

defiance flashed in Soso's eye, a sneer curled Samme's lip.

 

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,

and Samme stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.

 

Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped --

"That ain't my style," said Soso.

 

"Strike one!" the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,

like the beating of the storm waves on a stern and distant shore.

 

"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand,

and it's likely they'd have killed him had not Samme raised his hand.

 

With a smile of Christian charity, great Soso's visage shone,

he stilled the rising tumult, he bade the game go on.

 

He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun sphere flew,

but Soso still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two!"

 

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!"

But one scornful look from Samme and the audience was awed.

 

They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,

and they knew that Samme wouldn't let that ball go by again.

 

The sneer has fled from Casey's lip, the teeth are clenched in hate.

He pounds, with cruel violence, his bat 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 Soso's blow.

 

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright.

The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light.

And, on the Southside men are laughing, and little children shout,

 

but there is no joy in Wrigleyville --

mighty Soso has struck out.

[Chisoxfn]

They don't call him Corky McWhiff for nothing.

 

Somehow they should add the fact that he has no arm and is a hack in the field.

[Wise Master Buehrle]

Brilliant.

 

Pure brilliant.

[witesoxfan]