Here’s a poem that was originally printed in the Chicago Tribune in 1886, reprinted in Harvey Frommer’s Old-Time Baseball. I found the piece quite amusing, and I’m sure we have all had those moments when we could relate to the writer’s request. Enjoy!
Mother, may I slug the umpire
May I slug him right away?
So he cannot be here, Mother,
When the clubs begin to play?
Let me clasp his throat, dear mother,
In a delightful grip
With one hand and with the other
Bat him several in the lip.
Let me climb his frame, dear mother,
While the happy people shout;
I’ll not kill him, dearest mother,
I will only knock him out.
Let me mop the ground up, Mother,
With his person, dearest do;
If the ground can stand it, Mother,
I don’t see why you can’t, too.
Mother, may I slug the umpire,
Slug him right between the eyes?
If you let me do it, Mother,
You shall have the champion prize
–Untitled (Slug the Umpire)