What blight on yonder window breaks?
The Tools of Ignorance: a casque, a fatted mitt, a jock…
Pete Rose, me thinks.
Anon, love goes toward love as schoolboys
From their books toward diamonds dream.
But love’s tarnishment of self and game
Brooks no forgetting, not esteem.
The Titans of the hall, Aaron, Mays, the Maz, Wagner,
Ruth, all of history doth scowl.
‘Tis your conscience, Pete, that calls your name
Above silver sweet lawyers’ tongues
Like weasel-worded chin-music that to honest ears
Doth sound. And as for you, Bud Selig,
A pox on you! Be gone.
For pitching to this betting man, be gone.
O, be no other name.
What’s in a name?
(Commish Giamotti grooved it sweet.)
He whom we call The Rose in any other game
Would be a cheat.