Well, I'm no poet. Here's proof.Since nineteen hundred nothing-eight
Their team has chased the crown.
Each year they let themselves dream big
And are consistently let down.
But they don't let that stop them,
They don't dwell on past defeat.
These fans keep on believing,
They know true loyalty can't be beat.
They come to Wrigley Field
With big, home-painted signs
Announcing to the world
That "this year" they're gonna shine.
They remember names like Maddux,
Sosa, Dawson, Banks, and Dean*.
They remember when the lights came on
And know what a white flag means.
They cheer and do the wave.
They boo the other team.
They yell and curse the umpires.
They're raucous and obscene.
When their slugger hits a long ball
Or their pitcher strikes one out,
They stomp and scream and whistle
(They never had a doubt.)
But when their team is down by four
And can't seem to buy a hit,
When their pitcher walks the pitcher
Or can't find the catcher's mitt,
They can't hide their frustration,
(They wouldn't think to try).
They'll use words you've never heard before,
They'll maybe even cry.
They'll throw garbage on the field
And swear they're done for good,
But they'll be back tomorrow--
They'd live here if they could.
"This year will be the year," they say,
We're gonna win it all."
"Today will be the day
Our dreams come true." Now let's Play Ball!
*Gimme a break, alright? Yes, I know he was a Cardinal Great, but he played for the North-siders, too, and I needed the rhyme. Get over it.
