To give us hope for next year, I wrote a little song.
You can find the original, and the tune here.
The Foggy Mountain |
Far over the foggy mountain cold, |
To dugouts deep, and clubhouse old, |
We must away, into the fray, |
To win it for our green and gold. |
The teams of yore made mighty tells, |
While batters fell, like ringing bells, |
by players lore, with crowds that roar, |
In hollow halls, from which they dwell |
For ancient fan and owner old, |
There many a win of Green and Gold, |
Their passion won, and for their son, |
Many a trophy they would hold. |
On golden pennants that were strung, |
The swinging bats, with rings they won. |
The ball that curve, the bat that twirl, |
To the delight of old and young. |
Far over the foggy mountain cold, |
To dugouts deep, and clubhouse old, |
We must away, into the fray, |
To win it for our green and gold. |
Pennants they took there for themsevles |
In green and gold, where few fans dwell |
There play they long, and many a won, |
Was only heard by fans and self |
The pines were roaring on the heights, |
The fans were moaning in the night, |
The fastballs spread, it's spinning threads, |
The field flooded, and blazed with light |
The balls were ringing with the gale, |
And men looked up with faces pale, |
The home umpire, in black attire, |
Laid low their hopes, and fortunes frail. |
The mountain loomed beneath the moon, |
The players heard the growl of doom, |
The flying ball, which die and fall, |
Beneath the tarps, beneath their runes. |
Far over the foggy mountain grim, |
To dugouts deep, and lights dim, |
We must away, into the fray, |
To win our rings away from them! |
The wind withered as they bequeath, |
But on the field stirred no leaf, |
There shadows lay be night or day, |
And all left was their greif, |
The wind came down from mountain cold, |
And like a tide they roared and scored. |
The players groaned, the bleachers moaned, |
And October left, absent of gold |
The wind went on from West to East; |
All movement on the field ceased. |
But shrill and harsh, despite the charge, |
Their playoff hopes were deceased. |
The grasses hissed, their tassels bent, |
The bats were rattling--on it went. |
O'er Charlie's mule, under heavens cruel, |
The pitching staff were torn and rent. |
It passed the Lonely Mountain bare, |
And swept above the Raider's lair: |
In their former park, lay blackhole dark, |
And flying smoke was in the air. |
They took on the world, on chilly nights, |
And watched the world on sea of bytes, |
The tickets for sale, to grab the grail |
And stars were fanned to left and right. |
Under the Mountain dark and tall, |
The team has come unto it's hall! |
Their foe is dead, the Tigers of dread, |
And ever so their foes shall fall! |
The slider's sharp, the curve is long, |
The runner swift, the swing is strong. |
The heart is bold that dons the Gold, |
The team no more shall suffer wrong. |
The teams of yore made mighty tales, |
While batters fell like ringing bells, |
Players of lore, with crowds that roar, |
In hollow halls, from which they dwell |
On golden pennants that they strung, |
The light of stars, with rings they won. |
The ball that curved, from arm that hurled, |
The melody of drums they thrum |
The mountain throne once more is freed! |
O! Wandering folk, the summons heed! |
Come haste! Come haste! Retake our place! |
The team of friend and kin has need. |
Now call we over the mountains cold, |
Come back unto the coliseum old!' |
Here at the gates the team awaits, |
They stand here donned with green and gold. |
The team has come unto their hall |
Under the Mountain dark and tall. |
The Tigers of dread are slain and dead, |
And ever so our foes shall fall! |
Farewell we call to hearth and hall! |
Though wind may blow and rain may fall, |
We must away, into the fray, |
Far O'r the bay and mountain tall. |
To Cooperstown, and Triple Crown, |
We will not take this lying down, |
Through pennant race, the world we chase, |
And whither then we know not how. |
With foes ahead, behind us dread, |
Beneath the sky we strive ahead, |
Until at last our toil be passed, |
Our journey done, our pennant sped. |
We must away! We must away! |
We fly forward, take no off day. |
We must away! We must away! |
We fly forward, take no off day. |