The pitcher of record is a heroic man,
A losing soul who throws all the junk that he can.
A snake-bitten one who in spite of his best,
Is marked with defeat and is the name of all jest.

This poor fallen fighter went as hard as he could,
Yet fell to abyss, the ash of fire-burnt wood.
He made little mistake, yet was punished so harsh,
For instead of profit, he's sent off to swamp-marsh.

He once was a lover, a lover of the game,
The game wasn't just baseball: 'twas a cherished fair dame.
And who would have thought he'd be sent spinning to ground,
Gone on whims, to be with others who were clowned.

Yes, he loved that gal, he loved that slick-witted charm,
And so enjoyed laughter that'd do him no harm.
He rested in joyous thoughts of being around,
And from time to time, to that gal he’d be brain-bound.

But she's no longer callin’: she moved on from he,
So off to the gloamin’, where our hero shall be.
Alone with ol’ thoughts, all fleeting and fadin’,
Those memories off to sea, away - they’re wadin’.

This hurler could’ve lost scores more games and be just fine,
But to lose a big one - a tale-telling sign.

They tell us of the great Ruth
A myth that was simply truth
Who’s name is floating up there
With all those greats that are couth.

And where lies all of the rest
Of whom scores of fans called best
Like the great Mickey Vernon
Who passes the mighty test.

Yet some roam in the empty
From Shibe or Allegheny
Who deserve spots in annals
For there’s still room aplenty.

Perhaps if they won some more
And bathed in pennants galore
Then with Whitey and Yogi
They would live for evermore.

But even those who were there
Those that breathed the Series air
Pierce And Galan forgotten
For they had no winners share.

Even those of era fame
Who won the big Series game
Ol’ Bobo and Bridges
File amongst “Forgotten Name.”

In the Hall lies Pioneers
But to others I give cheers
For without Firpo and Face
The relief corps receive jeers.

But too many a founder
Who made many a mounder
Left out like Sain and Perkins
Who lifted aces from flounder.

So revel them as ball’s spine
Not just the few with a shrine
Give the others some minutes
For to them that's just sublime.