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The Bums are gone; good, I'm
glad!
O'Malley used to make me
mad.
Those old short fences, ciggie
ads
And bright beer signs were
passing fads.
That winning spirit couldn't
last
When Robby's playing days
were past.
The ecstacy of
'55
When Podres kept our hopes
alive
Are locked with scorecards,
photographs
Forgotten — with the million
laughs
Of bleacher days. But who
cares now?
I'll never miss them,
anyhow.
But, then — a bulletin comes
through
A flash from
WNEW
It's Campanella! And they
say
That Roy was nearly
killed today.
Paralysis! The tragic
end
Of Campy's ever-winning
bend.
Who can forget the impish
grin
Accompanying every Dodger
win?
The ever-crouching
"39"
Assuring fans that all is
fine
Thrice MVP, the catching
ace
Who figured in each pennant
race
Was loved by each and every
fan
Who rooted for that Brooklyn
clan.
And now, the world has tumbled
down,
The prayers of a united
town
Today are flooding heaven's
gate
For Brooklyn's favorite
battery mate.
We never thought we'd feel this
way
When first they took out for
LA
But Campy's crash has taught
us all
We're Dodger fans still,
Spring to Fall.
No matter where they choose to
roam,
The hearts of Brooklyn are
their home.
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