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Michael Kadish
The outlook wasn't brilliant for our football team that day.
They were down by five on the opposing thirty with just two minutes left to play.
And then when Cooney dropped a pass and Stengle did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair.
The rest clung to the hope which springs eternal in the human breast.
They thought, "But if only Yogi had not gotten his head whacked.
They'd put up even money now, if Yogi quarterbacked."
Yet Flynn let drive a spiral to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, though much despised, kept his hands around the ball.
And when he was a'tackled and the fans saw what had occurred,
Ol' Blake was lying safely on the opposing twenty-third.
Then from one sole voice there rose a lusty yell,
It rumbled through the valley and rattled in the dell.
It knocked upon the mountains and recoiled upon the sea.
"Time! Flynn is coming out for Yogi! Rocket Yogi is our QB!"
The crowd responded with cheers as the bell ending time out was sound.
Yogi's face was wiped with dirt when he tripped and fell upon the ground.
The ball was snapped to the upright Yogi; however, it was poor.
Yet Yogi caught and threw a bomb which gave a gain of four.
"First Down! First Down!" yelled the cheerful fans.
Apparently "The Rocket" had met the fans' demands.
"We can win! We can win! We can wrap this game right up!
And then, why Good Ol' Yogi can win the Player's Cup!"
"Hike!" yelled Yogi, his head still in the sky.
And then there came a yell from the ref that made his spirit die.
Yogi knew it when he threw it that the toss wasn't very neat.
"Off sides! Ten yards!" yelled the ref, giving his whistle a tweet.
From the benches black with people, there went up a muffled roar.
Like the beating of the storm waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill the ref!" shouted someone in the stands.
And it's likely they'd have killed him, had not Yogi raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity, great Yogi's vintage shown.
He stilled the rising tumult; he begged the game go on.
He ordered to his players to quickly end the stall.
The ref gently smiled and just threw him back the ball.
Yogi went back. He must be ready but calm.
For there's no other way to throw a thirty-yard bomb.
Yet he had forgotten to use his arm as a lever
He had completely missed the intended receiver.
Up and out of the ballpark the ball did climb.
In fact, it set a record for the longest hang time.
Quickly,"Incompletion!" was muttered by the ref.
But from the yelling of the crowd nearly made him deaf.
"Fraud!" cried the madden thousands and the echo answered, "Fraud!"
But one scornful look from Yogi and the audience was awed.
"Will you shut up?" Yogi yelled to the spectators of the game.
"The call was right, in fact it was One hundred percent sane."
At 3rd and 19 a hand-off was played.
But the runner was soon tackled to everyone's dismay.
At this point in the game Yogi's face began to weather.
He knew that if he lost the game he'd soon be tarred and feathered.
And when the ball was hiked, he took a few steps back.
He made sure the ball would reach for the plan of attack.
Well, now he holds the ball, and looks at the future carrier.
And now a certain force breaks the sound barrier.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright.
The band is playing somewhere and somewhere hearts are light.
Somewhere men are laughing and somewhere backs are whacked.
But there is no joy in our town for Rocket Yogi was sacked.
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