Ogden Nash's Ode to Spring Training

It was once tradition on Seattlest to post this on the day pitchers and catchers reported, so I'll import it here...by the master of light verse, Ogden Nash.

All winter long, yes, every day,
I throw the sporting page away,
I turn my faithful radio off
And grimly settle down to scoff,
Since contests that as sport I list,
In wintertime do not exist.

If Mr. Gallup me is polling
He will not tally a vote for bowling;
Despite our brief Olympic radiance,
Hockey belongs to the Canadians;
But chiefly am I unbeguiled
By Dr. Naismith's monster child,
Basketball is not a sport,
Not even as a last resort --
A game indulged in by giraffes
And only good for scornful laughs,
All whistle-blowings and palaverages
And scores that read like Dow Jones averages.

Only Harlem's unique Globetrotters,
As comic as seals and slick as otters,
Find its pretensions are grotesque
And treat it purely as burlesque.

But hark! A hint from softer climes
Of past and future golden times!
In Phoenix and St. Petersburg
The rookie generates the erg,
And Vero Beach and Sarasota
Of embryo Ruths can boast their quota.

The airwaves now begin to tingle
As grapefruit knights in tourney mingle;
Again the happiness pills I know
Of sporting page and radio.

Home is the exile, home is the rover,
The storm of basketballs is over;
I sail serenely into harbor
With Phil Rizzuto and Red Barber.