“There was a Team in Brooklyn”, said my Father, Dan.
He taught me rules about the game and I became a Fan.
As I lay down on my big bed
I heard the Radio say, “I’m Red”!
Twas in the Spring, the birds would call
That’s when the Umpire said, “Play Ball!
The Pitcher looked in for a sign.
Nodded twice and then did wind.
The Ball he threw, it was so fast.
Then, Bat hit Ball unto the grass.
The fans, they thought it was a Hit.
Until it landed in Reese’s Mitt.
The Ball, he threw to First was grand.
It was caught by Hodges hand.
The Umpire stood with thumb in air,
yelled loudly, you’re Out! with flair.
The fans were happy he was out.
Some did clap and some did shout.
The game went on without a score,
past three inning, four and then some more.
The Home Team got a man on base,
He danced and pranced, he wanted to race.
A Pitch was made, a crack was heard.
The runner ran past second to third.
Jackie sped past third, as if late,
and shook the hand of George at Plate.
The fans stood tall and cheered the score.
They knew the team would score some more.
The game went on, the score five-all
Then Snider hit one off the wall.
Twas only a few moments later
that Furillo smacked that old Potato.
The Ball disappeared into the breeze
and Snider scored with little ease.
The Dodgers had the lead, but wait.
The game moved on into the eighth.
A Walk, an Out, and then a double.
The team appeared to be in trouble.
The Manager from the Dugout came
Walter Alston was his name.
He wave his hand and that was fine,
cause we all knew he called Labine.
The Pitcher looked so thin and spry.
He looked in to his Catcher, Roy.
Clem knew just what to do.
He mixed his pitches, threw and threw.
The score remained the same til end
The noisy crowd with cheers did blend.
The team had won the game by two.
Now I don’t know what to do.
I’m older now and things are harder
but when it’s quiet I hear the Barber.
The team has moved out to the West.
The owner thinks that it was best.
The fans were mad and in despair
because the Owner didn’t care.
The franchise moved in misery.
It left behind, team’s history.
When time does come to go away
I hope the Lord to me will say,
“Enter into Ebbets Field, the place here by the Gate.
When the Brooklyn fans arrive, they do not have to wait”.