Dedicated To Leon L. Jackson
A bunch of us kids got a craze for crib
and played at it game after game.
It seemed a matter of luck if you had
the pluck and excitement rose to a flame,
And night after night the same old fight,
our ardor it could not damp
But slowly there rose right under our nose
the gent Who's known as Champ.
The night wind would blow and the wick
burn low as we players shuffled on.
The cards would slide like the snow
outside until the crack of dawn.
With a mild curse that could not be worse our
scores we'd count and stamp
It might be fifteen four but it was always
more for the gent who's known as Champ.
We'd feel pretty proud and crow aloud if
by chance we happened to win
But he'd take it hard and blame the card
and with a sickly grin
Declare with vim, "Oh I let you win" and all
the while scamp
Would get our goat till we eyed the throat
of the gent who's known as Champ.
Through cigarette smoke we cough and choke
and play it on and on,
Our buttocks grow sore, we laugh no more, we
are both tired and wan,
And when our victory is near and we raise
a cheer we might as well decamp,
It's "I gave you this game, competitions
so tame," says the gent who's known as Champ.
But at least we got the most brilliant
thought that ever came to man
We drew up a deed and made it read that
those will win who can,
That no games be given, this contract was
driven under the glow of the lamp,
We made him sign on the agreement line,
this gent who's known as Champ.
So now we play both night and day, our
crib board has no rest,
We struggle ahead till we're nearly dead,
to see who rides the crest.
We're crafty and cunning, persistent and
dunning, his style we try to cramp,
Yet win he will and we salute the skill of
the gent who's known as Champ.
Notes from the Family
Isa dedicated this unpublished, personal poem to her second husband, Leon Jackson, who clearly enjoyed a good game of cribbage.
This poem was found typed, folded, and hand-bound with string. It was placed inside a handwritten contract, scribbled with crib scores.
The contract reads as follows:
for
Contestants for
the
Mighty Cribbage Game
Grand Prize
&
‘Champ’ Medal
at Stake
I hereby agree to the following rules—
That there shall be no willful attempts at fraud, crafty counting, or marking the back of cards on my attempt.
That I shall struggle valiantly to win and ‘give’ no games away.
That food will be available to players at all times.
That the Purple Cow be concealed and not fasten her mournful gaze on any contestant.
That no player shall be handicapped by sitting in ‘Pensioner’s Corner.’
That manifestations of greed look concealed to the best of each players ability.
Signed by players
Signed by non-partied third person
It’s unclear what the Purple Cow and Pensioners Corner refer to. We never found any signatures on the contract.