by Michael Ceraolo
In the ninth ’twas Casey at the plate,
With the chance to confirm he was great
The anonymous pitcher
Saw his chance to grow richer,
And dispatched star Casey to his fate.
I Feel Pretty
by The Village Elliott
I feel pretty,
Not self-pity,
Feel like dancing from Jints’ week in town!
Don’t feel shitty
Like last weekend, when let my dauber down!
I feel pretty
Back in city
Jints play pretty and gritty and tight!
And I pity
Any fan of team not mine tonight!
I feel charming
Team’s disarming
How rearming up-daubered I feel!
From “Team’s shitty”
To “Maybe Giants are for real.”
See my city’s team in the ballpark there
Who can now-gritty Giants be?
Came home in last place
Road trip was mess
Home stand puts new smile
On old fans like me!
Team’s play stunning
Re-enchanting
From week winning with play team deploys,
I’m back in love
With this team of wonderful boys!
The Pursuit of Happ-iness
by James Finn Garner
Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap!
That’s the sound of Ian Happ
He takes his bat and with a slap
Hits that ball all over the map
Scorecard keepers can never nap
If there’s a chance that Ian mayhap
Knock the pill into the gap
He makes me happy! Happ! Happ! Happ!
Elegy in a West Side Ball Park
by Ring Lardner
Published in the Chicago Tribune on April 20, 1916, as a tribute to West Side Grounds on the same day the Chicago Cubs played their first game at Weeghman Field.
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight.
Save for the chatter of the laboring folk
Returning to their hovels for the night,
All is still at Taylor, Lincoln, Wood and Polk.
Beneath this aged roof, this grandstand’s shade,
Where peanut shucks lie in a mold’ring heap,
Where show the stains of pop and lemonade,
The Cub bugs used to cheer and groan and weep.
A Tale of Two Cities
by Alan P. Rudy
Our freshman got promoted to varsity,
He was raking and dealing while at JV . . .
The big guys were facing adversity.
Why, oh, why have they done this to me?!
Wait, what? They’re not starting him at third?!
Coach’s sending him on a line drive to left . . .
The ball’s up the line, the catcher . . . my word,
Collision! The umpire’s tossed him, the turd!
Suspended three games for failing to slide
In his first game, his new teammates loved it.
Back in, he’s comfortable, emotions elide,
But pitching Game Two, oh! We almost died!
The guys quite like him, though not yet 15.
The coaches just start him, it’s still unexpected . . .
Almost rounding to normal, it must be a dream.
We worry and fret, while joyous and keen.
Alan P. Rudy, father of two ball-playing boys, is an associate professor of sociology at Central Michigan University.