Letter To Harry

Hey Harry, I thought I might drop you a line
It’s an afternoon game at the Friendly Confines
I’ve got a radio up to my ear
WGN coming in clear
Somebody else now is calling the pitch
Leading the crowd in the seventh inning stretch
Sometimes he even reminds of you
Just the odd moment or two
Every year, Harry, on the day that you died
When the local time is half past five
Wherever they are from coast to coast
To you Harry, Cubs fans will make a toast
They’ll put those funny glasses on
Thanks to you everybody knows the song
«Alright, lemme hear ya, sing it with me…
With a one… a two… a three…»
Take me out to the ballgame, Harry
Take me out to the crowd
I’ll buy the peanuts and crackerjack
Whaddaya say we don’t ever go back?
We’ll just root root root for the Cubbies
If they don’t win, it’s a shame
It’s still one, two, three strikes you’re out
At the old ball game
Harry, since you’ve been gone we’ve let a few slip
World Series tickets yanked from our grip
We’ve thirsted for champagne the other teams sprayed
Cancelled a couple of October parades
That infamous foul ball was blown to shreds
Of horsehide, cork, and a couple of threads
They served the remains in a curse-ending sauce
It still had the taste of that heartbreaking loss
I hate to tell you and you’ll hate to hear
That team from the South Side had one good year
They won a World Series, but what could be worse
The Red Sox have finally conquered their curse
Up north, where it’s winter, there’s less of a sting
When pitchers & catchers show up in the spring
When poets are putting it all into verse
And the Cubs are starting out tied for first
So gimme a blue sky, gimme a breeze
Gimme a brot or a boiger with cheese
You might as well throw in a brew
Harry, I’m hoisting this one for you
The voice on the radio next to my ear
Trying to be heard above all the cheers
It might be… it could be… it is a home run!
Holy cow, Harry, Cubs won! Cubs won!
Take me out to the ballgame, Harry
Take me out to the crowd
I’ll buy the peanuts and crackerjack
Whaddaya say we don’t ever go back?
We’ll just root root root for the Cubbies
If they don’t win, it’s a shame
It’s still one, two, three strikes you’re out
At the old ball game