Oh I know you're cheap and vulgar, you're an instrumental crime
In drawing-rooms you haven't got a show
You're a musical abortion, you're the voice of grit and grime
You're the spokesman of the lowly and the low
You're a democratic devil, you're the darling of the mob
You're a wheezy, breezy blasted bit of glee
You're the headache of the high-bow, you're the horror of the snob
But you're worth your weight in ruddy gold to me.
(from "Accordion", by Robert Service)
There are many good poems about baseball. Now all I need is a good poem about bowling and I'll have all my hobbies covered.