The war had finally ended and America had changed It had beaten back the nazis but the Jim Crow laws remained There was talk of staging marches & talk of civil rights There was talk about a Negro playing baseball with the Whites He walked into the clubhouse and the card players quit playing Everybody stopped in the middle of whatever they were saying It was just like when the sheriff walks into the saloon He said, “My name is Eddie,” as he looked around the room “This man’s here to play baseball,” the manager said to the team “We’re all gonna have to live with this...aw, that’s not what I mean... You know what I mean” - and they all did...it went without saying The card players looked at their hands and they went on with their playing They ran him off the field before a game in Birmingham one night Made him sit up in the grandstand in the section marked “For Whites” In his Cleveland Buckeyes uniform, it was a new twist on the law The marshals kept their eyes on him and the hecklers ate him raw Eddie Klep, he should’ve run the bases in reverse A White man in the Negro Leagues, that had to be a first He could not ride the same busses, or stay in the same motels He could not eat in the same restaurants, you couldn’t have mixed clientele So while Jackie played for Brooklyn and wore the Dodger Blue Eddie crossed the color line, the one without a queue A White man in the Negro Leagues, might as well have been a Jew Now you mention the name of Eddie Klep and most everyone says, “Who?”

His uniform was baggy - he had gigantic feet His hat was always cock-eyed & he had but a few teeth And a schnozz as big as Baltimore - and a heart as big as Devon Max Patkin made the children laugh - and for that he’s gone to Heaven Max Patkin, he was Vaudeville - last of the old time clowns Funniest looking fellow - that ever went from town to town With the kind of face that he himself said - only a mother could love With his loosey-goosey limbs - and his floppy leather glove Max Patkin worked 3 innings - they let him coach first base He’d call a meeting with the batter - and then kiss him on the face Then he’d do his chicken walk - and then his geyser bit Where he’d take a sip of soda - tilt his head back and spit Max would leave ‘em howling - then be slumped upon his stool With his back against a locker - filling the whirlpool Dirtied up and sweaty - down to his stockinged feet He’d give the clubhouse boy 5 dollars - to scrape the mud off of his cleats The Clown Prince of Baseball - did 5,000 gigs For 50 years he shared the bill - with circus dogs & talking pigs And by the 9th inning - he’d be back at the motel With an early morning wake-up call - and the next night he’d be someplace else The towels in every motel room - they all smell like chlorine From the Rookie Leagues to Triple A - and all points in between And all those hotshot prospects - who ever were Big League bound He saw ‘em on the way up - and some on the way back down Oh, to be a clown these days - you’ve got to have thick skin A flask in your back pocket - or a bottle of aspirin The drunks sometimes’ll getcha - or the team that did not win It’s tough to be a clown these days - you’ve got to have thick skin Max Patkin loved the children - and the children, they loved him His body would fall apart sometimes - but he’d patch it up for them He never, ever, not even one time - sold an autograph A funny man, Max Patkin - he made people laugh The times changed on Max Patkin - along came Rock & Roll They blare it from the speakers now - if ever there’s a lull And some guy in a chicken suit - is circling the bases With a corporate logo on his back - and in 1 or 2 other places If there’s a St. Peter - sitting at the gate He probably saw Max play sometime - and wiped clean Max’s slate That corny old routine - dated back to 1947 Max Patkin made the children laugh - and for that he’s gone to Heaven

Lefty’s in the minors, got his shoulder packed in ice He’s trying to hang on there against all that good advice Used to throw that sinker but that sinkerball went south And then they started calling him for going to his mouth Lefty holds the record for most strike-outs in a game Once upon a time he really threw a ball of flame Some wish he’d gone gracefully when his time finally came They put Lefty on waivers but nobody laid a claim It’s a Godalmighty shame - he got too old to play the game Where he made himself a name - and they call him Lefty Lefty wore the pinstripes for a good number of years The bleacher bums all loved him - they were tanked up with their beer He used to throw that heater, but the radar does not lie And now when Lefty lays one up there you can kiss that thing goodbye It’s a Godalmighty shame - he got too old to play the game Where he made himself a name - and they call him Lefty Now they’re calling him from Cooperstown - out on the bullpen phone Some little field in Bumfolk where the grass is overgrown It’s the bottom of the 7th and a runner just got on And they’re calling for a lefty...but Lefty’s not the one There’s a capital “L” in Lefty, so say it with respect He’s Senor Lefty down in Mexico & he’s Lefty in Quebec He could smoke you, he could fool you, throw a curve around your neck He could paint one on the corners, he could fill the upper deck It’s a Godalmighty shame - he got too old to play the game Where he made himself a name - and they call him Lefty

It was a lovely summer’s morning An off-day in LA So thought one Dock Ellis As he would later say His girlfriend read the paper She said, “Dock, this can’t be right... It says here that you’re pitching In San Diego tonight” “Got to get you to the airport” And so off Dock Ellis flew His legs were a little bit wobbly And the rest of him was too Took a taxi to the ballpark An hour before the game Gave some half-assed explanation Found the locker with his name The organ in the upper deck Played all the schmaltzy hits You could hear it in the club house Where Dock was getting dressed His sunglasses he reached for From his locker, in a case Dock Ellis pulled his jersey on Then he put them on his face Time came to go on out there Down the corridor The walls were a little bit wavy There were ripples in the floor He went out to the bullpen To do a bunch of stretches Loosen up a little Throw his warm-up pitches All rose for the national anthem People took off their hats Fireworks were exploding The cokes were already going flat Dock was back there in the dugout So many things to watch Some players spit tobacco juice Others grabbed their crotch The umpire hollered, “Play Ball!” And so it came to be Dock’s Pirates batted first And when they went down 1-2-3 Dock’s catcher put his mask on And he handed Dock the ball It was 327 feet To the right & left field walls The Pirates took the field then And Dock stood on the rubber He bounced a couple of pitches And then he bounced a couple others You might say about that day He looked a little wild The lead-off batter trembled Nobody knew why Dock Ellis smiled You walk 8 and you hit a guy The things that people shout... Especially your manager But he didn’t take Dock out Dock found himself a rhythm And a crazy little spin Amazing things would happen When Dock Ellis zeroed in Sometimes he saw the catcher Sometimes he did not Sometimes he held a beach ball Other times it was a dot Dock was tossing comets That were leaving trails of glitter At the 7th inning stretch He still had a no-hitter So he turned to Cash, his buddy Said, “I got a no-no going” Speaking the unspeakable He went back out there throwing Bottom of the ninth & He stood high upon the mound 3 more outs to go He’d have his name in Cooperstown First up was Cannizzaro Who flied out to Alou Kelly grounded out for Dean The shortstop yelled, “That’s two” It must’ve been a mad house The fans upon their feet The littler ones among them Standing on their seats Next up would’ve been Herbel But Spezio pinch-hit He took a 3rd strike looking And officially, that was it It was a lovely summer’s morning An off-day in LA So thought one Dock Ellis As he would later say

Me & you, we never booed Richie Allen I never understood why people did He hit a homer every time he stepped up to the plate That’s what I remember as a kid Richie in the field out there by first base The target of some mighty foul words With his shoes he’d scrawl between the pitched “B-O-O” in great big letters in the dirt Philly fans, they’ve been known to get nasty When Joe must go, they’ll run him out of town I saw Santa get hit by a snowball And then get hit again when he was down Me & you, we never booed Richie Allen Even if he did sometimes strike out I was too young to read the papers To know what all that booing was about That big collapse of ‘64 was ugly They blew a lead of 6 and one-half games with 12 to play Some might say their fans were justifiably angry World Series tickets printed up in vain Philly fans, they’ve been known to get nasty When Joe must go, they’ll run him out of town I saw Santa get hit by a snowball And then get hit again when he was down Going back to old Connie Mack Stadium You teaching me the rules of the game We root-root-rooted for the home team Those other people should’ve been ashamed This was before the days of the million dollar contracts Before the days of the artificial grass He stood a bit outside the lines which made him fair game for those times Richie Allen never kissed a white man’s ass Me & you, we never booed Richie Allen No, we’d pound our mitts & we’d yell, “We want a hit” How could they call a guy a bum after he’d just hit a home run? That didn’t make any sense to a kid Now I’ve since found out all these days later Now I know a lot more than I did And if back then you knew, Daddy, why all those other people booed... Thanks for letting me have my heroes as a kid

September 23rd 19 Hundred & Eight Cubs against the Giants Giants at the plate Bridwell came to bat There were two outs & two on It was the bottom of the 9th The infield it was drawn Two weeks left in the season It was a classic pennant race The Giants had a one game lead And the Cubs were giving chase Polo Grounds were rocking Score was tied at one Moose McCormick was on 3rd base He was the winning run Which brings us to Fred Merkle Whose name would soon be cursed He was the other runner He took his lead off first Bridwell drilled a line-drive Out into right-center McCormick could’ve walked home And the Giants were the winners The Polo Grounds erupted Thousands rushed the field The players all ran for their lives Fans right on their heels & Merkle was halfway to second By the time McCormick scored But then Merkle made a bee-line Straight for the clubhouse door Now the door to the clubhouse Was in the outfield wall Merkle never did touch 2nd And the Cubs retrieved the ball The throw back to the infield Reached the wrong couple of hands & Giants coach McGinnity Threw the ball up in the stands And after a long deliberation The Ump ruled Merkle “out” It would take too long to clear the field Of the unruly crowd And since night games were unheard of then And it would soon be dark He called the game a 1 - 1 tie And would have to sneak away from the park Giants manager McGraw argued That this Rule 59 Never was enforced And so why should it be this time? But only two weeks earlier It ran on all the wires The same play happened to the Cubs And to the very same umpire But none of the New York papers Deemed the story fit to print And so it was that thanks to them Their team was ignorant But all throughout the Baseball world And elsewhere people knew it A runner has to touch his base And Merkle didn’t do it So the matter was turned over To the Baseball powers-that-be Who upheld the Ump’s decision & they ruled prophetically That if the season were to end With the Cubs & Giants tied They’d have to replay “The Merkle Game” So First Place could be decided Well, they replayed “The Merkle Game” And fee-fi-fo-fum... The Giants lost the pennant And Merkle was the bum The papers let him have it They gave it to him good They ran the kind of headlines That only New York papers could They dubbed him “Bonehead” Merkle They made up Merkle words One might “pull a Merkle” And “to Merkle” became a verb Some would yell “touch 2nd, Bonehead” When he stood on first Little kids yelled “moron” And the older kids much worse It haunted him his whole life Until 42 years later In front of 35,000 Former Merkle haters Back there at the Polo Grounds For an old-timers game There was a long standing ovation When they announced Fred Merkle’s name

Moe Berg the catcher - good field and no hit Somehow he lasted 19 years - ‘till his knees made him quit He never really played much & he never really cared He was happy just to hang around with a uniform to wear Moe Berg the Princeton graduate - went on to study law Got his degree from Columbia - all the while playing ball He caught the eye of the Dodgers - who were trying to sign a Jew Who might help ‘em sell some tickets - in The Bronx & Yonkers too Moe Berg the professor of the bullpen joked with pitchers Reading them the newspapers he used to have delivered He spoke to ‘em in Russian, Japanese & French He was the greatest scholar that ever rode the bench Moe Berg & The Babe, they went over to Japan With a team of touring all-stars giving clinics for the fans This was back in the 30’s as the world prepared for war Moe took a lot of pictures - nobody knew what for Moe Berg the secret agent - never even told his mom Of his mission to determine if the Germans had the bomb He learned to speak good physics - without hardly a lisp He infiltrated lectures with the German scientists Moe Berg the walking riddle - would put his fingers to his lips If you recognized him on the street - he’d nod & whisper “shhhh” He kept a lot of secrets - no one will ever know He knew a lot of people - but nobody ever knew Moe Moe Berg the beloved - he had the gift of gab The moocher, the celebrity - he never paid the tab He could get in at the ballpark - with his lifetime player’s pass He could eat up in the press box - someone always filled his glass Moe Berg son of an immigrant - brought his father shame All that education - then to play a child’s game Moe made it to the Majors - but his dad would never go see him Moe’s baseball card is on display at the CIA museum. Long after he’d retired - there was still Moe Berg the myth He rode into the sunset hanging sadly onto it Appearing on a game show - as the mystery guest Some say disappearing - might be what Moe did best

Ruth Ann Steinhagen, who was an office typist Went to a baseball game at Wrigley Field With a couple of her girlfriends, it was innocent enough Ruth Ann’s future though that day would be revealed Some girls she didn’t know were yelling, “Hey you, funny face” To a player who was within shouting distance And there stood her Adonis in the form of Eddie Waitkus Who was blissfully unaware of her existence It was April 27th of 1947 Ruth Ann blew a circuit in her brain The 27th of every month would be the anniversary Of the time she first saw Eddie Waitkus play Every Saturday & Sunday she would ride the El to Wrigley Sit halfway up the line behind first base Cause that was his position and those were the closest seats Where she could have the best view of his face Ruth Ann collected articles & photographs of Eddie She slept with pictures of him in her head She learned some Lithuanian, to better understand his roots Made a shrine to him beside her bed Ruth Ann’s world was shattered the day Eddie was traded To Philadelphia & for many days she cried She wrote him letters often and she phoned & left him messages But never once did she get a reply On the north side of Chicago, the Edgewater Beach Hotel When the Phillies came to town that’s where they stayed Ruth Ann made her reservation a month ahead of time On her calendar she ticked off every day A room service daiquiri & a couple of whiskey sours All three of which she nervously consumed While waiting up for Eddie who was out late having dinner After starring in the game that afternoon Ruth Ann bribed a bell hop to leave a note for Eddie Urging him to come up to her room 1297-A, Ruth Ann wrote on hotel stationary That had the faintest trace of her perfume “It’s extremely important I see you as soon as possible... It would be to your advantage to let me explain” It was very nearly midnight and the Phillies had a curfew Eddie just kept staring at the name Ruth Ann was the same name of the woman Eddie dated But what on earth would she be doing in town? She surely would’ve phoned first before coming to Chicago Eddie rang the elevator down A tall girl answered the door, said Ruth Ann stepped out for a minute Eddie sat down by the window in a chair Ruth Ann said, “I’ve got a surprise for you” - it was a pawn shop rifle Eddie stood up & said “Baby, what have you got there?” “Baby, why’d you do it?” asked a bleeding Eddie Waitkus Over him a lifeless Ruth Ann stood “You’ve been bothering me for two years,” Ruth Ann said to Eddie “And if I couldn’t have you then nobody could” Ruth Ann phoned the desk clerk to say she had shot Eddie That’s probably why he didn’t bleed to death “Baby, why’d you do it?” he kept asking from the stretcher Struggling for every precious breath Ruth Ann told the detectives how she’d planned on stabbing Eddie And how then she would’ve taken her own life But when Eddie sat down in the chair a stabbing was impossible So she used the rifle instead of the knife Ruth Ann did three years in a mental institution They set her free when they said she was cured And after four operations Eddie Waitkus did recover At least you see his name in all the old boxscores But Eddie took to drinking... He turned into an angry man People often wondered, and there were a bunch of rumors Just how well he knew that crazy star-struck fan

Moonlight on the mountains North Carolina two-lane Trying to find a ballgame No matter how bad the reception Whitey, man, I miss you When I listen to the Phillies And there’s Harry going on without you Harry...good old Harry Radio under my pillow Kept me up on school nights The ballgames from the west coast Wouldn’t start until eleven Whitey, man, I miss you When I listen to the Phillies And there’s Harry going on without you For the first time since I was seven We wore red, the thousands of us Who’d come to say goodbye & pay their last respects This tough town really loved you I saw grown men who wept Bats & spikes & flowers Made a shrine around your casket And I signed in in the guestbook As the line filed past it Whitey, man, I miss you When I listen to the Phillies And there’s Harry going on without you Harry...good old Harry