From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar, Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore; "Kill him! Kill VZ!" shouted someone on the stand; And it's likely they'd have killed VZ had not B1 raised his hand. With a smile of Christian charity the great B1's visage shone; He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on; He signaled to the market maker, and once more the volume flew; But B1still ignored it all and VZ yelled, "Strike two!" "Fraud!" cried the maddened readers, an echo answered "Fraud!" But one scornful look from old B1 and the ET'rs all were awed. They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his fingers strain, It was then they all learned what's true He'd not be "stopped" again. Now the sneer is gone from B1's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate, He pounds his keys with violence His Finviz charts tick late And now Jerome holds the ball, at 2 he lets it go, And now the air is shattered by the force of B1's blow. Oh, somewhere in this favoured land the sun is shining bright, A band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light; Somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout, But there is no joy in ET land —The mighty B1 has struck out.