Came Yom Kippur

by Edgar Guest

Published in the Detroit Free Press, 1934

Came Yom Kippur — holy fast day world wide over to the Jew,
And Hank Greenberg to his teaching and the old tradition true
Spent the day among his people and he didn’t come to play.
Said Murphy to Mulrooney, “We shall lose the game today!
We shall miss him on the infield and shall miss him at the bat
But he’s true to his religion — and I honor him for that.”

 

The Love Song of J. Alfred Bleacherbum

By Bill Savage and James Finn Garner

Let us go then, you and I,
Where Wrigley’s spread out against the sky
Like the Cardinals etherized down the standings;
Let us go, through half-constructed streets,
Muttering about our seats
Of restless day and night games and new hotels
And vanished sawdust taverns that never served an oyster:
Streets that flow with tedious arguments
Of where to spend your cents
To bleed you to an overwhelming debt–
Oh, do not ask, “How much is it?”
Let us go, stand in line and make our visit…

In barrooms, fans come and go
Talking of Maddon, Jed ‘n’ Theo.

 

Bill Savage is an associate professor and adviser for the Weinberg College of Arts and Sciences at Northwestern University. Follow him on Twitter at @RogersParkMan, where this poem first appeared. 

Wonderful Iron Horse Lou

by Willard Mullin

Published in the New York World Telegram, May 1939.

You heard of the Wonderful Iron Horse Lou,
Who looked as if he would never be through,
For fourteen years as good as new,
And then of a sudden, he — ah, it’s true!
Gehrig was not like the common folk;
Created, was he, like the strongest oak;
Seemed nothing could crack on this hardy bloke!
No flaw to be found, no use to try
With hand as good and sure as his eye,
His arm was just as strong as his knee;
His back and shoulders enough for three;
And his legs the best you ever did see.
A thousand ballgames passed and found
Gehrig at first base strong and sound.
Fifteen hundred came and went;
Eighteen hundred and still unbent.
And then the two thousand twenty-first game
Playing as usual, much the same.
His body was sturdy — just like the start;
His lungs were still as strong as his heart,
He was sound all over as any part,
And yet, as a whole, it is past a doubt
In one more game he will be worn out.
The second of May, Thirty-Nine!
McCarthy was naming his men down the line —
And what do you think the people found?
Dahlgren on first to the right of the mound!
And off in the dugout with head going round
Was the man who had played himself into the ground.
You see, of course, if you’re not a dunce
How he went to pieces all at once —
All at once, and nothing first —
Just as bubbles do when they burst.
End of the wonderful Iron Horse Lou.
Flesh is flesh — and Lou is through.

 

Willard Mullin, a widely syndicated sports cartoonist, was the creator of the Brooklyn Bum, the clownish personification of the Dodgers’ team in the 1940s and ’50s. 

Baseball Observation

by Stephen Jones

Most strikeouts and home runs in a season…
No, this was no “ball in play” season,
And everything wasn’t between the lines.

And maybe — somewhere — there is a reason
For records broken like stretched-out twine…
But just now, analytics don’t come to mind.

Maybe baseball’s met up with fiction?
Like Redford hit one into perdition?
(Dunno. In movies, metrics are out of season.)

 

Nacho Typical Play

by Hilary Barta

On the prowl, youngster Addison flew
Missed the foul, but got covered in goo
Falling into the seats
Russell tipped someone’s eats
Fetch a towel for that nacho fondue!