13 Nov
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Ruthie at the Bat

Last night, the Young Republicans took on the Young Democrats in a trivia battle royale, and won handily. In honor of the event, we have composed a little poem (with some liberal borrowing from Ernest Lawrence Thayer).

Ruthie at the Bat

The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the YR team that day:

Outnumbered ten to one, with four rounds of trivia to play,

But the valient YRs vowed to give their best all the same

And over the tumult Ruthie shouted “let’s play this damn game.”


A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest

Clung to the hope which springs eternal in the human breast;

They thought, “If Ruthie could but get a whack at that—

We’d put up even money now, with Ruthie at the bat.”


Questions were lost, mistakes did the YRs make,

For the laughing Dems it all seemed a piece of cake;

So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,

For there seemed but little chance even with Ruthie at the bat.


But Round Three came, and to the wonderment of all,

The YRs came back and the Dems began to stall;

And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,

There were the Republicans, tied up in the third.


Then from five or so throats or 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 flat,

For Ruthie, mighty Ruthie, was yelling “what was that?”


There was verve in Ruthie’s manner as she got up from her place;

And pride in Ruthie’s bearing as she got up in the moderator’s face.

For she didn’t like a question on debt, thought she smelled a rat,

No stranger could doubt ‘twas good fair Ruthie didn’t have a gat.


Ten thousand Dems’ eyes were on the YRs rising from the dirt;

Five thousand tongues were silent and the Dems began to hurt;

Round four came, and from their drinks the YRs began to sip,

Defiance flashed in Ruthie’s eye, a sneer curled Ruthie’s lip.


And now queries they hurtled through the


And now the Dems stood a-watching in shock over there.

Lightening round questions up to the Republicans sped—

“It’s B,” said Ruthie. “Wow you’re right!” the moderator said.


From the Dems, those liberal people, there went up a muffled


Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore;

“You’re winning YRs!” shouted Chris C. from the stand;

And with a high five, Florent did raise his hand.


With a smile of Christian charity great Ruthie’s visage shone;

She stilled the rising tumult; she bade the game go on;

She signaled to moderator, and Round Four questions flew;

And the YRs got it right, the moderator said, “That’s two!”


“Rad!” cried Ruthie, and echo answered


And for final jeopardy the Dems seemed sad.

They saw Ruthie’s face grow stern and cold, they saw her muscles


And they knew that Ruthie and the YRs wouldn’t miss again.


The sneer is gone from the Dems’ lips, their teeth are clenched in hate,

The stewed and struggled and grew concerned, for the hour had gotten late;

And now the final question comes, and now the moderator lets it go,

And now the air is shattered by how much the Dems do blow.


Oh, somewhere in this favoured land the sun is shining bright,

The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light;

And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children


But there is no joy in Liberal-land—for the Dems have struck out.



DISCLAIMER: This post and the contents thereof are the views of only the author identified immediately above and do not necessarily represent the views of the New York Young Republican Club (the "NYYRC"), its officers or its members. The NYYRC expressly disclaims responsibility for the contents thereof and by its charter documents may not, and does not, endorse any candidate for any office, except in a general election.

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