Rotten Georgia Peach

 Rotten Georgia Peach

The tribulations of Ty Cobb

 

 

I was a fighter, ask Billy Evans,

The umpire who found out

After losing our brawl.

Also ask the one handed man,

Who from his seat, impaired

From an industrial accident,

Had only three fingers

On his lone hand to

Shield himself from

My rage. His slurs, degrading

My race, poured from his seat,

Setting off the violence

That was fueled with anger.

The old-timers labeled me:

A snarling wildcat, left alone.

My loneliness extended in 1911,

Using our friendship to my

Advantage, I manipulated

“Shoeless” Joe out of the

Batting title. His average

Suffered while I ignored

His camaraderie, refusing

Friendly conversation. The

Title mine, I assumed a

Restored friendship. Yet,

My fellow southerner

 Felt isolated, avoiding

My presence in fear.

Brains on my feet won games,

With the bases I stole

Sliding in spikes raised,

To fend off any armless

Defenders. They were

All against me, so

I beat the b******s, leaving

Them in the ditch

Where they belong.