The radio screams and the papers print reams
for the player who carries the ball,
While never a word is written or heard
of the players who sit through it all.
But there on the bench
a dozen hearts wrench
when a man goes in the fray.
They never go in,
but they take it and grin--
for them it's all work and no play.
When the vacant seats stare
you will find them all there
in the thick of the strife and storm.
They are battered and bruised--
it's for practice they're used--
in the game they just keep the bench warm.
So take off your hat
to the players who sat
through the Saturday afternoon game,
And remember that they had
a part in the play that
to others brought glory and fame.