Chipper Jones isn't nearly as prone to rhyming as Only A Game host Bill Littlefield. (AP)

Chipper Jones isn’t nearly as prone to rhyming as Only A Game host Bill Littlefield. (AP)

Let us now praise famous men

Before they praise themselves again:

The pitchers making millions, who,

Could not retire me or you;

The goalie, nimble as a brick,

Who’s slow and thoughtful – never quick;

The golfer who, inclined to flub

A shot then tosses his golf club

Into the air, through which it sails…

With luck there’s no one it impales.

 

Oh, sing a song of those who ride

Their cycles uphill, side by side,

And hope that when the day is done

And they have had their riding fun

They won’t be found the next day moping,

Since they have been pinched for doping.

 

Oh, hip hooray for college stars

Who wile away their time in bars

Until the ending of the night

When it is time to start a fight,

And since a fight is not much fun

Unless somebody has a gun,

Pull out the heat and let ‘er rip

And kiss goodbye that scholarship.

 

We can’t forget the coaches who,

To win will do what they must do…

If that includes a transcript change

It’s no big deal to rearrange

An “F” until, just like a tree,

It grows, and turns into a “B.”

 

And let us not leave out the owners:

Greedy sots, eternal moaners,

Claiming they are losing money –

T’weren’t so sad, it would be funny…

Give them buildings new and pretty,

Or they’ll find another city

Where they will set up their teams

As someone else’s nightly dreams.

 

My, our games must be fantastic,

Or our standards quite elastic

To endure the stupid stuff,

Some disgusting, some just fluff

That’s built around the brief, bright time

When what we’re given is sublime.