The teams were bitter rivals and, judging by the score,
The Dodgers would be champions once they retired just three more.
Don Newcombe was pitching brilliantly and had a three run lead.
Surely he would slay these Giants and get the outs we need.

Then Al Dark hit a single and Mueller did the same.
(Surely there was just no way that we could lose this game.)
Monte Irvin popped-up- that’s one for our boys in blue.
Then Luckman hit a double and Newcombe’s day was through.

Two Giants on the base paths and Blue had a two run lead.
Ralph Branca got the call to get the outs we need.
Bobby Thomson was at the plate, some kid named Mays on deck.
Branca had an open base- would he simply walk the vet?
Branca’s first pitch was a strike and some gave sighs of relief.
The second pitch was deposited by Thomson in the seats.

In disgust Ralph tossed the rosin bag as Thomson made his trot
His failure made immortal by Bobby Thomson’s shot.
Dejected, Branca left the mound amidst a mad mob scene.
The number on his uniform? -A starkly black Thirteen.