The Death of Big Ed Delahanty

Sometimes, hung over, he might lose a pop fly

In the glare of the Washington sun

And, yes, he swung at bad pitches

And let the Irish in him sharpen up and boozy-bloat his tongue

Nights on the road, he led a bachelor's life

With the bright, short blaze of a shooting star

But he soaked some homers, yeah, four in one game

When the ball was dead and the fences far

Big Ed, don't let them weigh you down

Big Ed, don't let us weigh you down

In July 1903, he was hitting .333

For him, that was a little bit under par

On the 2nd, he jumped the team

And jumped a train from Detroit to New York

Went straight for the dining car

He was boozing it up good, they say

Making trouble, cursing, shouting, Delahanting in the bar

At Fort Erie, Ontario, he was bumped from the train

Wandered out on the bridge, but he didn't get too far

Big Ed, don't let them weigh you down

Big Ed, don't let us weigh you down

The night watchman said he'd seen a man

Ended up wearing his bowler hat

He heard a splash, but he didn't see him fall

What good's it do to question death when it makes a bad call?

But I don't think he killed himself

I think some strange notion drew him to Niagara Falls

Across the great curve of day and night

Like the perfect arch of a high fly ball

Big Ed, don't let them weigh you down

Big Ed, don't let us weigh you down