Of course, McGraw is always wrong—he never picks a winner.
That's why the Giant's backers never have the price for dinner.
His record as a manager is one long trail of blunders—
He always kept the dead ones and he always canned the wonders.
For three long years, with hoots and jeers, the rooters cried: “You boob!
Why don't you fire this Marquard?” But McGraw stood pat on “Rube.”
McGraw has often kept young chaps when rooters shouted “Sell them!”
He never tells the rooters why, and doesn't have to tell them.
He doesn't like a lobster, and, believe me, Alexander,
He wasn't on a dead one when he kept that big left-hander.
You've no idea how many fans called John McGraw a boob
For letting other youngsters go and standing pat on “Rube.”
Rich merchants criticised McGraw in terms that were unkind—
Merchants with lazy shipping clerks and men that robbed them blind.
But Mac just smiled and held his peace. He should have said: “Don't whine!
Mismanage your own business, boys, and let me manage mine!”
When Matty's cunning goes at last—all arms in time must tire—
He'll leave a great successor in the boy Mac wouldn't fire.
Any corrections or public domain poems I should have here? Email me at poems (at) this domain.