The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Nudist Tour that day;
The weather front threatened, with a bad wind chill on the way,
And then when Arkansas got buried, and Ohio got the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the northern nudist game.
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, "If only Global Warming could show up right now
We'd love to strip this itchy wool, the Tart can show us how!."
But snow preceded sunshine, and the cold front did too,
And the former made obstacles, while the latter was just poo;
So grim melancholy sat upon that stricken multitude
For there was no chance today to be a happy naked dude.
But Flynn showed us a cream, to the wonderment of all,
That added ten degrees, to what we felt from this squall;
And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,
There was a hopeful whisper about moving nude forward.
Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the skies,
For Tartness, mighty Tartness, was advancing on the rise.
There was pride in Tartness' bearing and a smile lit Tartness' face.
And when, responding to the cheers, she lightly gave a wink,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Tartness on the brink.
Ten thousand eyes were on her as she rubbed her hands with glee.
Five thousand tongues applauded when she wiped them on her knee.
Then while the writhing Lucius did a Macarena well,
Defiance flashed in Tartness' eye, a wink that time would tell.
And now a leather-covered man came hurtling through the air,
And Tartness stood a-watching him in haughty grandeur there.
But he passed on right by her, with unprecedented speed,
"He must have spotted something, had an unexpected need."
From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore;
"Kill him! Kill the bad boy!" shouted someone on the stand;
And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Tartness raised her hand.
With a smile of sweet indulgence great Tartness' visage shone;
She stilled the rising tumult; she bade them to go on;
She signaled to the masses, and once more a new man flew;
But Tartness still ignored him, and the crowd started to boo!
"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!"
But one scornful look from Tartness and the audience was awed.
They saw her face grow stern and cold, they saw her goosebumps strain,
And they knew that Tartness wouldn't let a man go by again.
She turned to look upon them with a whip held in her hold.
And now the next man starts to run, and she lets out a snap,
And now the air is shattered by the whip that Tartness cracks.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright,
People are dancing naked, and somewhere the hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and flashing skin so bold;
But the Tart can't catch a nudist; it just is too cold.
Adapted from Tartness at the Bat
By Ernest Lawrence Thayer (San Francisco Examiner 1888)
All images from image google "naked baseball"