“Yellow”

He wasn't a strong looking fellow,
  And roughnecks played ball in those days;
The ballgamers christened him “Yellow”
  Because of his mild, timid ways.
Red Flynn slapped his face to a whisper
  One day when he missed a fly ball,
And his jaw almost broke when he got a swell soak
  From the fist of Outfielder McCall.

I used to feel sorry for “Yellow,”
  The gang made his life one long moan.
He wasn't a strong looking fellow,
  They ought to have let him alone.
I've found, in my baseball excursions,
  From Maine to the parks way out West,
That the players who win and draw down the tin,
  Are the players who throw out the chest.

But courage is courage, I reckon;
  It's hard to explain, but it's true;
And sometimes a fellow that people call yellow
  Turns out to be brave and true blue.
One day when a hit meant a pennant
  Our “Yellow” came up to the bat;
Did he quit in the pinch? Did he falter and flinch?
  Sure he did. He struck out like a rat!
“Yellow”

by William F. Kirk, 1910
