I have a ‘thirties baseball glove,
And wish that it could talk…
Just think of all the things it’s seen:
The runs, the hits, the walks!
‘Away back in ‘The Golden Age’ ~
When radio was king…
And broadcasters like Red Barber
Could make the airwaves sing…
As ‘swing’ sound, with that fine off-beat,
Set silent toes to tap,
We cheered for ev’ry ball player
Who gave that ‘hide a rap!
When Frankie started fireside chats ~
We all tuned in to hear;
But as those pitchers wound it up:
Our voices turned to cheers!
Then unemployment reached the sky ~
And milk cost fifteen cents!
The field is where we turned again,
To soothe our discontent.
We heard two boys hit forty runs ~
A feat beyond belief!
And then, in nineteen thirty-nine,
We list’ to Lou, in grief.
Chicago shocked us, every one,
By planting greenery;
And Cincinnati put up lights,
So everyone could see.
In ‘thirty-two, Babe called his shot.
Barnstorming came to town.
Next, the astounding All Star Game
Became a thing renowned!
The ‘thirty-four World Series match
Went to the ‘Gas House Gang’ ~
Whose smelly, unwashed uniforms
all trailed a ling’ring tang…
Gus Greelee’s Pittsburgh Crawfords’ took
Nine straight championships —
The finest team that ever played:
Black Satchel Page once ruled the mound!
Amazed us and intrigued —
Said Joe D. backside one big hit,
“I’m ready for big league!”
Hall of Famer’s came in ‘…six, but
The players heard war’s call…
So the thirties shall e’er remain
The Golden Age of Ball!