The cricket game was over and the sun was sinking low,
The players in their blazers plodded homeward in a row.
They stopped within the clubhouse for a final cup of tea,
When up spake Captain Edgerton to Bowler Basil Fee:
“Jolly well tried, old chap!
You lost as the greatest can;
But whether you win or whether you lose
You're always a gentleman.
Have a Scotch and soda, old fellow —
It will drive off the blooming blues;
Keep up your stride, you jolly well tried,
And a man can n't always lose.”
The baseball game was over and the home team had been skinned,
The players slunk across the field while sundry knockers grinned;
They hurried to the clubhouse for a bath and change of garb,
When up spake Manager McDuff, and each word was a barb:
“Fine lot of high-priced athletes!
Most of you ai n't alive!
I could pick a team from the Soldiers’ Home
And beat you four out of five.
Be out here at ten to-morrow —
That goes the way that it lays;
Any mixed-ale sport that does n't report
Will squat on the bench ten days!”