As I did in the previous entry, I wish to spoof or lampoon Ogden Nash's famous poem about baseball. The more I read it, the more it seems he composed his little ditty in an afternoon while he had something else on his mind, while he was drinking beer or maybe while he was planning his summer vacation. At any rate, I think it is silly, shallow and a poor way to honor the best of the old-time baseball players. This from a man who wrote the lyrics for several Broadway plays and was highly regarded by the literary establishment!
Wikipedia tells us that Nash, who died in 1971, was best known for "light verse." Indeed, his "Line-up for Yesterday" is very light—just about as light as a feather. I wonder if Nash came to regret having thrown together his baseball poem, because it reflects so poorly on him. And again, I make no pretensions of being knowledgeable about poetry. In fact, I do not care about it at all. What I do care about is sports history that is smartly presented, and Nash failed the test big time.
A is for Alworth,
Star receiver from the old SWC,
Slender of build and faster than small-town gossip,
Admiring sports writers nicknamed him Bambi.
B is for Brown,
Wore No. 32 for the Cleveland football team,
Ready to match strength with strength,
This running back did not lack self-esteem.
C is for Casper,
Caught numerous balls from the Snake,
Twice reached the mountaintop with the silver and black,
Al Davis' second-round pick in ’74 was no mistake.
D is for the pugnacious Ditka,
A Pitt Panther through and through,
Battled Papa Halas nonstop,
But the wedding photo with Ricky W.—who knew?
E is for Eller,
Tough as nails DE up in Minny,
Missed just three games in 16 years,
None dared call him a ninny.
F is for Fouts,
Practitioner of the Chargers' high-octane offense,
He threw to the sidelines, over the middle and deep,
Mere hand-offs made little sense.
G is for Grange,
The Galloping Ghost saved pro football 90 years ago,
Never another one like him,
He used to dodge tacklers and turn on the turbo.
H is for Hayes,
In Tokyo he won Olympic gold,
Converted that speed to the gridiron,
Long-distance strikes from Dandy Don never got old.
I is for Isbell,
Texas-born and Purdue-educated,
Led Green Bay to the ’39 crown,
The cheers have not yet abated.
J is for Jurgensen,
No quarterback could sling it like Sonny,
Whether for the Eagles or Skins,
His passes were on the money.
K is for the Browns’ Kelly,
Playing in the mud was his knack,
Twice the NFL’s rushing champ,
He would probe the line—and then attack.
L is for Lane,
The notorious Night Train,
No DB has been more feared,
Than this inflicter of pain.
M is for the fleet Matson,
Won a pair of medals in Helsinki in ’52,
Boosted the lowly Cards and Rams,
Touchdowns, he scored more than a few.
N is for Namath,
Guaranteed a win in Super Bowl 3,
Got it against the mighty Colts,
Never again did he the playoffs see.
O is for Otto,
To him defeat was an abomination,
Did his work in the trenches,
Underwent 28 knee operations.
P is for Payton,
Proud alumnus of Jackson State,
The Bears’ high-stepping strutter,
Was excellent; neigh, superb; neigh, great.
Q is for Quayle,
’68 ACC player of the year,
Didn't last with the Broncos,
They told him, “Goodbye, dear.”
R is for Rozelle,
Californian with the golden smile,
Commish of the league for three decades,
Turned it into a national obsession, a lifestyle.
S is for the fair Stenerud,
Hailing from a small village in Norway,
A virtual bazooka for a right foot,
Time and again for KC he saved the day.
T is for Taylor,
Outside linebacker who was always in the know,
Won two Super Bowls with the Giants,
Had a weakness for ho’s and blow.
U is for Unitas,
Personified the horseshoe,
Threw a TD pass in 47 straight games,
Possessed an extraordinary football IQ.
V is for the stout Van Buren,
Only Honduras-born member of the Hall of Fame,
Helped the Eagles win the title in ’48,
Let us always remember his name.
W is for Walker,
Heisman Trophy winner out of SMU,
Little man could do it all,
He ran, returned, caught, kicked and threw.
X is for Plaxico,
In the ’08 Super Bowl he caught the game-winner,
Screwed up and had legal problems galore,
Sent to the big house where he ate beans and broth for dinner.
Y is for Yary,
Minnesota’s perennial all-pro was a hoss,
Loved to flatten defensive linemen,
Just to show them who was boss.
Z is for Zorich,
While a member of the Fighting Irish there was no tension,
Lasted six years in the NFL,
Just long enough to get a pension.
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