Baseball, the national pastime,
one of the slowest games in the world;
hot dogs, beer and half-crazed fans,
once the sphere is rudely hurled.

The rain, the wind, the humid days,
we sit for hours and cheer;
what is it about this loony game,
that to us the fans, endear?

We hate the ref, will taunt the ump,
we hoot and call out loudly;
they play the national anthem,
and most of us stand proudly.

The Red Sox and the Yankees,
the losers and the best;
it gives us fits and starts,
so much, we cannot rest.

But when that ball goes in the stands,
it's a lovely thing to see;
who can live without the game?
certainly, not me.