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!

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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)
by Anonymous