Oh, the Cubs of other seasons, how they made us writhe and curse! How they made us leave the ball yard moving slowly, a la hearse. Oh you Sheckard, oh you Schulte, oh you great Three Fingered Brown, Oh you little shortstop Tinker, idol of Chicago town! We have followed all your doings, we have seen you going back, And to-night we're burning incense at the shrine of Connie Mack. From the Battery to Harlem, rooters do a noisy dance When they think of the Athletics and of Peerless Leader Chance. Where Lake Michigan is seething as the seasons hasten on, Near the home of beef and bustle, near the home of Bathhouse John, Gloom has settled, fans feel nettled, nerves are right on edge like knives, Fathers spank their little children, husbands beat their trusting wives. But the rooters of Manhattan have no tales of woe to tell As they read their Sunday papers in the homes they love so well. Yes, they simply have to chuckle (you can get this at a glance) When they think of the Athletics and of Peerless Leader Chance. THE OLD ROOTER I saw them open yesterday, the Giants and their foemen, I saw them field and hit and run, the fast men and the slow men; The sky was just as blue above, the sod as green beneath As when the old-time Giants used to frisk around the heath. But Billy Gilbert wasn't there, Old Second Baseman Billy, Who used to pluck 'em from the air And drive the bleachers silly. I saw them open yesterday, I heard the turnstile clicking; I heard the popcorn venders' cry and heard the tickers ticking. The field was smooth as desert land, the multitude was shouting, And to the heavens rose the sound of clouting, clouting, clouting. But Michael Donlin wasn't there, The Mike they used to cheer for. "Come on, Mike, clout!" was all the shout We used to have an ear for. The Giants opened yesterday, an April day and sunny; They played before a New York crowd of fashion, fun and money. Grandstanders cheered, the young fans jeered; the crowd was standing, swaying, It made me sigh for days gone by, when first I saw them playing. But Dan McGann has gone away And Dahlen with his science; Mertes and Seymour couldn't stay-- The Giants opened yesterday But not the old-time Giants. "IF" (Wireless Apologies to Rudyard Kipling) If John McGraw can hold his health and cunning, If Matty's whip retains its fibre fine, If Raymond doesn't keep the lager running From Harlem to Tom Sharkey's down the line; If Ames can shake the hoodoo that has gripped him And bend them over as our Leon can, If Larry Doyle will fire the boots that tripped him, And field to suit the most exacting fan;