A windy night at Wrigley
The year was two-thousand three.
Mark Prior was on the mound,
the Cubs looked like they were free.

The score was three to zero,
The fans long had waited,
A pennant for their beloved team
It would be long belated.

A hundred years in the making
Since the Cubs last finished first
The fans were tired of aching
Those Cubbies sure were cursed

With Pierre on second
and Castillo at the plate.
He popped a ball right near Bartman
Perhaps it was fate.

He reached out for the ball
a souvenir for his wife,
but that ball was in play
and that day scarred his life.

So hit lead to hit,
and error lead to error
The Cubs lost the game
And made Bartman’s life a terror

Let this be a lesson
to all who give Bartman shame
a baseball is just a baseball
and baseball is only a game.