We loved them of an evening after school
in temperatures near zero (or below).
What joy it was to pick the greater fool
in each progressively absurd tableau!
We loved them in the good old summertime
when, expecting sun but met with showers,
the amiable violence of their prime
was always guaranteed to speed the hours.
Knowing little of the Great Depression,
we simply chuckled as they tried and failed.
How they then attacked some new profession.
Who guessed, in part, we’d seen our futures veiled?
And there was Ollie, with his genteel ways;
his voice that sang of ridges that were blue.
The man who turned to millions with a gaze
that somehow felt intended just for you.
And there was Stan. The brains behind it all.
The master of a smile that switched to tears.
That innocuous human wrecking ball
who spurred our doomed attempts at wiggling ears.
And let us not forget those other players!
Long and Finlayson, Sandford, Hall and Busch.
Gilbert, Housman. Each providing layers
that gave the boys a huge creative push.
Their legacy the years will never stem.
For laughs, our friends remain the ones to beat,
and many of us owe more thanks to them
than almost any pair we didn’t meet.