by Donald G. Evans
No fans in the Wrigley stands,
Okay, let’s start there.
The Comcast deal didn’t land,
That hardly seems fair.
Hottovy got the virus,
Something there to learn.
A pandemic has no bias,
Next could be your turn.
We knew it would happen,
Jose went down: swish!
Not from a cough or a sneeze,
Just cleaning a dish.
Looking at the South Bend Fort,
Ross said, “Next Man Up!”
Strumpf, Hill, Hughes, Palma, King, Mort…
“Who are these mere pups?”
Testing is slow and spotty,
You do have to wait.
Maybe this is all just me,
None of this seems great.
Forget about high-fiving,
Please, please do not spit.
This disease, it is thriving,
Could be in your mitt.
When married with some children,
You sure do miss home.
When young and rich and single,
You just want to roam.
Opening Day: Yes!
We’ve all waited long enough.
Just take your best guess.
About the rest of this stuff.
Red Line rides, no sir!
Long lines, no need to worry.
Good-bye ballpark franks,
Swap in take-out curry.
Seems like only yesterday,
A buck got you in.
Even little ones could pay,
Small price for a win.
I’ve been sheltering months now,
On my couch do I lie.
Some baseball–Hey, Holy Cow!
Just try not to die.
Donald G. Evans is the founding executive director of the Chicago Literary Hall of Fame.