via farm3.staticflickr.com

In the recent McCoven Adoption Draft I took the 1912 New York Giants, one of the greatest assemblages of talent (especially on the mound) in franchise history.

The Buffalo Bills of their day, they lost three straight Series from 1911-13. 2012 marks the centennial of their suffering the most painful Game Eight loss the World Series will ever see. The other three were rough, too (not that getting eliminated in a World Series is ever particularly easy):

• The 1903 Pirates, tasked with defending the honor of the Senior Circuit in the first-ever World Series, blew a 3-1 series lead with four straight not-close losses to the Boston Americans.
• 1921 saw the Yankees eliminated in their first-ever postseason appearance when the the Giants, up 1-0, gunned down the tying runner as he tried to (LOL!) go first to third for some reason on a 4-3 groundout.
• 1919 was, of course, pretty epically bad in other ways.

But this post is about the Giants, and only the Giants could find a way to lose a seven-game series in the 10th inning of Game Eight.

No, literally, only the Giants:

This was one of only four World Series to go to eight games, and the only best-of-seven Series to do so. While the 1912 Series was extended to eight games due to a tie game being called on account of darkness, the 1903, 1919 and 1921 World Series were all best-of-nine affairs that happened to run eight games.

Then as I was looking into it, I realized that this is also the big-round-number anniversaries (50th and 10th) of other iconic Giants' World Series losses (and the 90th of a win). And that got me thinking about Those Games. Y'know, Those Games. The ones that need no more reference than "Game Six" (see? you just winced). What are the definitive Games One through Eight in franchise history, the ones that generations of fans comparing war stories in Baseball Valhalla would recognize? It's not all misery, of course. The Giants are a proud franchise, and have given about as well as they've gotten over the years in October.

So take a deep breath, fire up Baseball-Reference and Wikipedia, and let's go get lost in the internet!

(All links open in new windows, by the way. Not that y'all will click on any, let alone all sixty-four.)

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So Grant_ME_MERCY posted this link Wednesday about the A's-to-San Jose issue. It included this quote:

"I'd be amazed that, with all the public reassurances we've received from Bud Selig over the years, he would change his mind on this matter," Magowan said. "He's a man of his word, a man of integrity, and he has been clear and direct in the past about reaffirming our territorial rights. It's hard to see how he would not be bound by what he's said, as many times as he has been on the record in support of those rights."

And that got me thinking. Y'all already know how I like to adapt great works for my own purposes, so I had a go at this one. I was just going to reply to his comment, but I spent long enough on it that I decided to FanPost it instead.

Enjoy!

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Merry Christmas from Hogwarts, McCoven! Holly jolly and all that.

I wrote and performed this as an e-Christmas card, and you guys most certainly deserve a card. Enjoy!

A Wizarding Christmas (via bluemax1119)

Read along below, if you'd like.

A Wizarding Christmas

by David Leisk

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the castle
Not a creature was stirring, from Hedwig to house-elf.
The stockings Leviosa'd, hung by the tree's star;
The boggart Ridikkulus'd back to its armoire.
Those students not home nestled snug in their beds
While visions of corridors danced in one's head.
The cat Mrs. Norris purred in old Filch's lap;
All mischief was managed on the Marauders' Map.

Then from the Room of Requirement there arose such a clatter,
Myrtle moaned from her toilet to see what's the matter.
Up to the ceiling she flew with a flush,
Her curiosity piqued for new gossip to gush.
She emerged in the hallway, where her pearlescent glow
Cast an eerie half-light on the proceedings below;
For what to her wondering eyes should appear,
But a flying Ford Anglia filled with Death Eaters
And a pale thin driver, such a cold individdle,
She knew in a moment it must be Tom Riddle.

"The Vanishing Cabinet," he icily hissed,
"Can't handle a car, you bumbling twits!
Bellatrix! Lucius! Goyle! MacNair!
Dolohov, Yaxley, Crabbe and Rosier!
To Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff Halls!
Now dash away, dash away, 'til you feel my call!"
Then from the wrecked Anglia Death Eaters poured,
Each anxious to avoid letting down the Dark Lord.
Not one, though, to Gryffindor Tower did flee,
As Voldy had told 'em, "Leave Potter to me!"

Through the Fat Lady's portrait Myrtle did dash
But saw to her horror green flames in the ash.
Before she could move, out strode from the Floo
The frightening figure of old You-Know-Who.
He was hairless and scaled from his scalp to his toe;
His color of skin the white of the snow.
'Pon his shoulder he carried a great bulging sack-
Like Mundungus he looked, from robbery just back.
His phoenix-core wand twitched in his grip
His malicious smile danced on his lip.
His crimson eyes flashed from vertical pupils
His demeanor was regal, with no hint of scruples.

The tales of terror of Slytherin's Heir
Impedimentia'd Myrtle like Basilisk stare.
He emitted an aura that glowed so e-velly,
She shook where she stood as if cursed by legs jelly.
He was august and eldritch, a right mighty old mage;
The cruelest of creatures in at least an age.
So she was even more shocked when he dumped out his presents
And sang out a carol in a voice rather pleasant.
Each sleeping student from Mudblood to pure
Had presents awaiting- he double-checked to be sure.
He said, "Albus and I may have our wee tiffs,
But none should awake without any gifts."

He pressed his tattoo, his team jumped in the car,
They shot over the castle a Christmas-tree Mark.
His voice echoed back as the Ford disappeared,
"Hoggy Christmas to all, and I'll get you next year!"

In which WTAWTAM goes all FJM on Bill Simmons. Just gotta vent. I think this is actually a draft or two away from being readable, but... well, appropriate, non?

Sports Guy-

Should I call you that? I guess since basketball and football are two separate sports, you can go ahead and continue to pluralize "Sports." I bring this up because for a guy who professes to be "the voice of the fan," you sure do seem to be narrowing your focus. I mean, your last baseball column was three months ago, and it was about how bored you (and therefore, by your logic, the rest of us) are with it.

And that got me thinking. How does a guy whose once wrote so much about baseball, he was able to compile them into a book called "Now I Can Die In Peace," go from there to boredom in under six years? So I went through the last three years of your archives, back to the 2007 Red Sox championship.

It didn't take me very long. Now, I didn't bother looking through every mailbag, and I didn't bother with your podcasts. I don't really care about you giggling with your buddies on the phone or letting your readers do the work so you can go to the well (again) for an easy one-liner about The Karate Kid and a "yup, these are my readers." I was looking for full columns about baseball. I wanted to see how many times you sat down and really thought about the game.

The answer is twelve (well, really, the answer is eleven, or ten and a half, or something. But we'll get to that later). Twelve times in three years.

Why is that? Yeah, I know, you're a Boston guy that moved to LA; the Pats and Celtics have both played for titles since the Red Sox last did; you've had 'The Book of Basketball' and '30 for 30' on the brain for the last however long. But I think those are just aspects of it. I think the real truth is, you cared about Boston and the storyline of the 86-year drought far more than you care about the game of baseball itself.

The proof is, of course, in your ludicrous position of taking pride in not following the National League. For a purported "voice of the fan" to blow off more than one-half of the sport is as silly as, say, a writer who revels in being all about The Most Rewatchable Movies of Pop-Culture Quotes of Blah Blah Blah refusing to watch The Big Lebowski for the express purpose of pissing people off.

But let's take a more detailed look. Let's go to the books and see what insights those twelve columns in the last three years have to tell us.

 10/29/07- Sox Win Most Valuable Team Award

"But I wasn't thinking about any of this stuff Sunday night. I was thinking about a second World Series, and even better, the serenity that came with it. The 2004 run wasn't about winning as much as surviving and enduring; those final four games against the Yankees were more like life experiences, and the World Series against St. Louis wasn't about baseball as much as family and hope and belief and life and death and everything else that makes sports so unique. This time around, if you loved the Red Sox, you simply watched the games and savored the chance to follow such a likable, entertaining team."

There it is. That "feeling of serenity." As much as you bitched about Fox talking up the Curse Of The Bambino before the 2004 Sox broke the drought, I think you secretly loved it. You loved being the scrappy little underdog that was always stepped on by the mainstream media and the big meanies in pinstripes. Now that the Red Sox are just Yankees North, the passion is gone.

4/8/08- The Biggest Sports Story Of 2007 Didn't End Happily

"For all intents and purposes, Bonds' career has vanished into thin air. His home ballpark has had three different names (Pac Bell, SBC and AT&T), but it was mostly considered the House That Barry Built. This season, though, all traces of his dirigible-size head have been erased. Forget about a statue, inside or outside the stadium; there isn't a plaque, a banner or even a picture. It's like Bonds never happened. Once upon a time in San Francisco, Barry was up there with the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz, the Dead and the Mitchell Brothers. Now, the Giants do everything short of banning their fans from wearing No. 25 jerseys."

Five months between columns. In fairness, the offseason. And then a steroids column! Great!

Had you actually been to a game in San Francisco when you wrote this? There are plaques to Barry's accomplishments all over that park, including the career home run leader board next to the out-of town scoreboard on the right-field wall. As for the missing banners and wall-sized photos... well, you can hardly blame a rebuilding franchise for not encouraging their fans to compare the competitive Bonds-era teams with the then-current product. But the Giants are one of the best franchises in sports when it comes to maintaining ties with past players, Barry included. Remember, he never officially retired; he was blackballed from the game. What if the Giants had left all those commemoratives up, only to see Bonds sign at midseason with, say, the White Sox? It'd be weird.

7/1/08- The Hugh Grant Syndrome

"So after analyzing it from every direction, my conclusion is that Hugh Grant Syndrome can never derail a real sports fan. We'll always find ways to care as much as we always did, if only because the day-to-day process of following a team is such an enormous part of our lives. Losing that passion would be like giving up morning coffee or not exercising anymore; a routine is a routine. Maybe the result won't be 100% as satisfying as the Mount Everest victory, but you can still get to 95% and maybe even 98% or 99%. I'm fine with those numbers."

Three months between columns. In fairness, the interminable NBA playoffs and a Celtics title.

This is only kinda a baseball column (it's the point-five to which I alluded earlier); you'd just experienced a string of titles from all your favorite teams. But in it, you start to address the heart of what I suspect is your real issue with baseball, then give yourself a pass. The quest, the storyline, is gone. You're getting bored and complacent. The "NINE-TEEN EIGHT-TEEN!" dragon was slain, and now you're dealing with the day-to-day-realities of Happily Ever After. You aren't slogging through dingy snow to pick up the Globe to see who the front office might sign, you aren't scrounging tips and surviving on cigarettes and ramen to afford tickets. You're a married father driving in sunny LA, the land of fans that hit the middle three innings, get seen, do some waves, play with some beach balls, and bail. You're richer than you ever expected to be. And as digitally connected as you are, you're still thousands of miles away from random high-fives on the sidewalk because of a 'B' on your cap. You aren't at 99% or 98% or 95%, but you don't want to admit it to yourself or your readers.

10/17/08- The Red Sox Make It To Midnight

"We were having the funeral for the 2008 Red Sox. Heck, I even gave one of the eulogies. Called my dad during the seventh inning for the requisite, 'Yup, we just didn't have it this year,' conversation and everything.

In fact, if Game 5 were a movie, that's what I would call it: 'They Made It To Midnight.'

...

Over everything else that happened Thursday night ... I will remember staring at that clock and rooting for Oct. 17. They always said Red Sox fans would care a little less after we climbed the mountain once or twice, that it wouldn't mean as much, that it couldn't possibly mean as much. That's not true. It will never be true. You either love sports or you don't."

But it is true. You said so yourself, just three months earlier. What you're really saying is, now that the Sox got the monkey off their back, your level of interest in the game is tied directly to the team's fortunes in October. When they're in, you're stressing and writing 10,000-word dissertations about Pedroia's scrappiness. When they're out of it, you're dialed out of it. LA has some pretty Fair Weather, doesn't it, Bill?

Hey, look, another three months between columns! In fairness, there was, uh, preseason football.

3/24/09- Revisiting The Manny Signing

"Editor's note: The following is adapted from the new edition of Bill Simmons's book. The following selection is from a column that was originally published on December 18, 2000."

Uh... yeah. FIVE months between columns, with the streak broken by a Hey!-Buy-my-book! reprint of a nearly decade-old article about you watching a TV show. OK.

4/7/09- A-Rod Rallies The Clubhouse In His Own Way.

"It's a common bond of sorts. Even as you believe he's tearing your group apart, he's bringing it closer and distracting anyone from turning on someone else. He's your mean decoy, your Paula Abdul, your Newman. He's your necessary evil.

So yes, the Yankees might not miss A-Rod right now. But give them a few weeks. Every group needs an outcast just like every columnist needs a go-to guy for his column. The 2009 Yankees may not appreciate Alex Rodriguez yet, but I sure do. I won't write 10 A-Rod columns, but I could, and maybe that's all that matters."

Alex Rodriguez is a self-absorbed lightning rod, huh? Insightful stuff. You won't lazily mail in ten columns about baseball, but you could, and maybe that's all that matters. (Also, steroids.)

5/7/09- Manny's Positive Test Makes The Sports Guy Confront His Worst Nightmare

"That 2004 title made life easier for everyone. We could just follow the team without all the other negative crap. Does that make sense?"

Wow, only a month between columns. And it's about another self-absorbed lightning rod using steroids! This is an interesting column. Again, you seem like you're on the edge of a cliff of interest, setting it up like steroids are driving a wedge between you and your memories, that you're shocked, SHOCKED! that the 2004 Sox weren't The Only Pure Team and "all about family and hope and belief and life and death and everything else that makes sports so unique." But your interest had already dwindled drastically because you got those notches on your belt in 2004 and 2007.

6/2/09- It's Hard To Say Goodbye To David Ortiz

"We live in a world in which all entertainment is chewed up and spat out. We milk public figures like cows, and when they're out of milk, we tip them over and move on. Quickly. It's not just that we need to see everything "jump the shark" that bothers me. It's also that so many of us are gleeful about pointing out that something or someone we once loved has outlived his usefulness. The demise of Big Papi played out in an old-school way: real devotion, and in the end, people refusing to let go."

Well, somebody's sure quick to shovel dirt on the coffin. Funny that you complain about society's gleefully pointing out the end of someone's career in a vastly premature column declaring the end of someone's career. Oh, and steroids! Ortiz' "demise" turned out to be a down year for him in 2009 followed by a return to excellence in 2010.

On the plus side, the columns are coming fast and furious... right around the time that the last of the 2004 Red Sox appeared headed out the door in one form or another. Like a resurgence of thought about an ex-girlfriend years later when you find out she's getting married.

6/18/09- The Golden Age Of Baseball

"That leaves a five-year period, 1988-1992, that now seems Jonas-level pure, after the fact. Cocaine had become passé, and the number of suspicious statistical guys -- we could create the word "'roidy" here, just for kicks -- was a handful, at best. Er, worst. They clearly didn't damage the game any more than the spitballers, scuffers and corked-bat guys of earlier eras."

Oh, good! A steroids column! You mean the period that featured Jose Canseco and Mark McGwire in three of the five World Series? That's your Jonas-level purity? You sure that your declaring it the Golden Age has nothing to do with that period matching up exactly with your college years? Maybe you meant the Glory Daze (this Fall on TBS! Very Funny!) of baseball.

8/11/09- Living In The Shadow Of Steroids

"And the answer [from Ortiz] was, "I never buy or use steroids." Present tense intended to be past tense. Or maybe not.

These are the things baseball makes you consider in 2009."

Awesome! A steroids column! Man, you sure are a different voice than all the columnists that aren't The Voice Of The Fan.

Actually, these were all things baseball made us consider years earlier. Only Red Sox Nation had to wait until 2009 to be made to consider it. i wonder if that had anything to do with the employment status of George Mitchell at the time of his report.

4/2/10- Finally On Board The Sabermetrics Revolution

"Question: Who's going to have the biggest comeback year in baseball -- Grady Sizemore, David Ortiz, Tim Hudson, Fausto Carmona, Ervin Santana, Rich Harden or Jose Reyes?

Answer: None of the above. The answer is me."

A solid seven-month layoff between columns. Nice. And you've come back strong with a Rick Reilly-esque column explaining all these dadgum fancy new-fangled stats! But you're going to have the biggest comeback in baseball! You're doing your '80s-movie training montage, studying Baseball Prospectus and running in the rain to the sounds of "Eye of the Tiger!" You're...

7/29/10- Is The Honeymoon Over For Baseball?

"Look, I don't want to be Grumpy Old Man. I really don't. But I probably attended 100 Fenway games just from 1998 to 2002;

...

Team Selig has done a terrific job of keeping fans coming to ballparks. Now it should start worrying about keeping them awake."

... you're going to write one column the entire season, a 6,000-word (also Reilly-esque) whine about how boring the Red Sox (and therefore baseball in general) are. And you worked in steroids! Finger on the pulse, baby; baseball fans in 2010 are TOTALLY still obsessed with steroids! Don't call it a comeback!

But maybe the problem isn't baseball, Bill. Maybe the problem is you. Maybe you were never really that much of a fan. In the last three years, you've written a grand total of twelve(ish) columns about baseball, only two of which aren't about the Red Sox: one about Barry Bonds and steroids in April 2008, with a few hi-LARious head-size jokes, and one in April 2009 about Alex Rodriguez being unlikeable. Compare that to the hundreds of thousands of words you've dedicated to non-Patriot NFL teams, or non-Celtic basketball teams.

You might have gone national and dropped the 'Boston' from your 'Sports Guy' title, Bill, but when it comes to baseball, if the Sox aren't winning, you just don't care.

It's too bad.

Bochean had an interesting question about clutch situations in an overflow post-game thread after Romo got lit up by the Braves.

It comes down to your definition of clutch. I’m not aware of any analysis that shows whether or not some players perform better or worse in those ABSOLUTELY CRITICAL MOMENTS of their entire lives.

I’m not talking about avg. with RISP and two outs over the course of a season. I’m talking about situations like Romo has faced the last two games. Playoff baseball. Everything on the line.

By the time I responded, everyone had moved on to the next. So I'm reposting it as a fanshot. Maybe this way the flamewar that discussions of Clutch seem to make inevitable can be contained here.

You are quite literally correct that it comes down to one's definition of clutch.

There’s no analysis of those moments for precisely the reason that they are moments. They are so rare that there’s no way to tell whether the information produced by them is valuable or just SSS statistical noise.

The Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle seems to apply here. We the scientists can observe the speed of the particle (i.e. the player’s overall ability based on career numbers) or observe the particle itself by stopping it and zooming in (i.e., your absolutely critical moments). But you can’t use one to determine the other.

Was Barry Bonds Not Clutch before 2002? Or did he just have bad luck in the comparatively miniscule number of postseason games he’d played up to that point? Ted Williams had one postseason appearance; he hit .200/.333/.200 in 25 PAs. Can we really determine anything from that, or Willie Mays’ .247/.323/.337 line in 99 career PAs?

I do, as it so happens, think that there’s such a thing as clutch. I think that the situation does influence players. Just as some are able to raise their game, doubtless others wilt under pressure. But most research indicates that the only time this becomes statistically significant is when there’s a disparity in interest or effort; basically when only one party sees the situation as Clutch.

This article in the NY Times would seem to bear that out. Basically, as the season winds down, batters on the verge of a .300 avg will step up their game to reach that round-number plateau. But that only works because those crucial at-bats often come during “garbage time,” after one or both teams have been eliminated. So while the at-bat is of no particular import to the pitcher, it becomes Very Important to the hitter.

You can see what I mean in this graph from the article:

But in the playoffs, that interest disparity is eliminated, as each at-bat is of equal importance to both teams. Which leaves us right back where we started, of not being able to know how those situations will play out. It is, as they say, “why you play the game.”

All a manager can do is dance with the girl that brought him, avoid any knee-jerk reactions, and hope for the best. Usually it plays out as expected; sometimes you get Byung-Hyun Kim or Rick Ankiel (the pitcher). We as humans just happen to better remember the disasters.

This is such a fascinating story. Comparing the different possible scenarios is so fun, I almost don't want to find out the actual result. It's like Risk: NCAA Edition.

Here's my (I'm sure totally unfeasible for a thousand different reasons) pipe dream shakeout:

The new Red River Conference is OU, OSU, Texas, A&M, Tech, and Baylor from the Big XII; UTEP, Houston, SMU, Rice, and Tulsa from C-USA; and TCU from the MWC.

The Big Ten adds Iowa State, KU, KSU, Mizzou, and Nebraska to become the Big 16.

Along with Colorado from the Big XII, the now-Pac-12 picks up Hawai'i from the WAC.

The MWC loses TCU but picks up most of the WAC: Idaho, Boise State, Utah State, New Mexico State, Fresno State, San Jose State, and Nevada. Montana moves up from dominating the I-AA Big Sky.

(Not that you care about I-AA, but the five-team (um, what?) Great West sends UC Davis and Cal Poly to the Big Sky, and North Dakota, South Dakota, and Southern Utah to the Missouri Valley.)

Expanding from eight teams (in football) the Big East adds Memphis, Marshall and UCF from C-USA and Temple from the Mid-American.

The nine-team Sun Belt absorbs the four remaining teams of C-USA plus Louisiana Tech (sorry, WAC; you never made sense anyway).

Notre Dame, loathed and shunned, gets to stay independent.

Conference (# of teams)
ACC (12)
Big 16 (Duh)
Big East (12)
MAC (12)
MWC (16)
Pac-12 (Also duh)
Red River (12)
SEC (12)
Sun Belt (14)

So? Whaddya think?

This came up in the Diamondbacks Series Preview, and I apparently had something to get off my chest.

Someone was saying that the latest Indy movie wasn't all that bad... let's make no mistake here: Crystal Skull was most certainly all that bad.

THE TOP FOUR INDY MOVIES, BY QUALITY

1- Raiders

2- Last Crusade

3- Temple of Doom

4- National Treasure, which should've been moved to the 50s and called Indiana Jones & the Patriots' Gold or something.

ANALYSIS

Nothing like Raiders had ever been seen before. Truly revolutionary, it is often imitated, never duplicated.

Last Crusade is fantastic, no doubt. Everyone's right at the top of their games, and Ilsa is by far the hottest Indy girl.

I don't understand the hate for Temple of Doom that so many people have; sure it's kinda racist, sure Willie is a little annoying, sure Short Round wears a Yankee hat... but it is delightfully true to the old movie serials that inspired the character of Indiana Jones. More to the point, it blows Indy 4 off the map. "INDEE! YOO HAHT!"

Crystal Skull is just so terrible on every level. South Park called it absolutely right. The CGI, the horrendous script, the ponderous and inelegant set-piece fight scenes for the sake of fight scenes (he's a street punk/master fencer and she's a KGB officer/master fencer! No, really! I wonder if they'll fight?!?), the CGI, Cate Blanchett's accent, the lazy plotting that has characters change sides according to the needs of the scene, the CGI, the flagrant and disbelief-unsuspending violations of the laws of physics (like that magnet crap in the warehouse), that bullshit with the nuclear bomb (I mean, seriously. What. The. Fuck.), and the depression that sets in when you think about how many stories and scripts (e.g. National Treasure) there are out there that would be great Indy flicks with only the addition of the characters and in-jokes of the series. Oh, and the CGI (did I already mention that?).

The willfully bullheaded awfulness of George Lucas after Last Crusade (unless you want to give him a pass for Young Indy, which is fair) is positively Sabochyan (<-baseball reference!), and the ravaging of his two marquee franchises frustrates me to no end.

"I haven’t even told Steven or Harrison this," Lucas told Fox News. "But I have an idea to make Shia [LeBeouf] the lead character next time and have Harrison [Ford] come back like Sean Connery did in the last movie. I can see it working out."

-Lucas Has Idea for Indiana Jones 5

George Lucas, you fucking suck, and your beard doesn't hide your lack of chin.

Image from The People vs George Lucas

I wrote this back in spring of 2006, and the Cardinals went on to win the World Series. Since that obviously means that I am directly responsible for their championship (science!), I apologize that "With the Giants in Scottsdale" just isn't quite as musical to my ear.

With The Cardinals In Jupiter

With the Cardinals in Jupiter
Comes the dawning of the Spring,
Though some would say the robin
Or the groundhog-shadow thing.

But the answer's not the redbreast,
Nor 'tis the Equinox,
Nor the budding of the cherry trees,
Nor changing of the clocks.

No, the harbinger of springtime
Is a pitcher checking in;
It's the oiling of a glove
'Til it makes a second skin.

The unpacking of the lumber,
The testing of a swing,
And the Cardinals in Jupiter
Are the dawning of the spring.

It's when a Grapefruit demigod
Hits bombs in batting practice
As a legendary thief
Swipes bags among the Cactus.

It's when you're sitting in the bleachers
And the season nears a birth,
That you're as close to Paradise
As you'll ever get on Earth.

For it's now that every fan can know,
"This year will bring a ring!"
And the Cardinals in Jupiter
Mark the dawning of the spring.

It's now the grizzled graybeard
Shakes off the rust of winter
And every rookie phenom
Is a second Splendid Splinter.

It's when buddies armed with franks and brew
Debate a bunt or hit-and-run,
And old Jack Frost is driven out
By a warming midday sun.

And the crowd is really roaring,
And in the seventh sings,
And the Cardinals in Jupiter
Bring the dawning of the spring.

It's here in horsehide heaven,
Here in training Vernal,
Where even in a Cub fan
Hope can spring eternal.

For we all hit .350 here,
And turn the 6-4-3,
And break off wicked sliders,
And drop a perfect squeeze.

It's here where Babe still calls his shot,
And Willie chases down the ball,
And Ernie's out there playin' two,
And Vin has got the call.

And now the grass is mowed,
And chalk laid to mark the lines,
And they've finished singing to the flag,
And coach is running through the signs

And now the pitcher's looking in,
And now in steps the batter,
And from all around the infield
There comes the hum of chatter.

Now each and every one of us
Can of October dream,
And the only time that Casey bats
Is for the other team.

Now summer's 'round the corner
And baseball reigns as king
And a flock of Cards leaves Jupiter
At the dawning of the spring.