Of baseball and war machines

Monday morning. Gloom seems to have paid off the sun again. Not a good day for a game, by the look of it, but I'm thinking about baseball. The Felice Brothers are on the box singing, "Oh, Ty Cobb, you're dead and gone / you had a game like a war machine." Later, the ball soars and crowd roars and the scoreboard sweetly hums, "and tomorrow you'll surely know who's won." Nobody plays like Ty Cobb any more. That damned ol' cuss. I'll bet he's giving them hell still, where he is.