Fantasy Baseball Nightmare

by James Finn Garner

Signing up for another hitch
To field a nine to hit and pitch
My squad last year just up and died
Reckless with my baseball pride

Where’s my Mantle off the farm?
My rotation always finds bum arms
And my whizbang keystone pair
Can muster neither clue nor prayer

.    In my fog all the stats
.    Become an acronym loop
.    WHIP, FIP, GO/AO, BABIP–
.    Wait, isn’t BABIP Korean soup?

Every morning, I link in,
Despite my trades, always sinking.
Why should I let it get me down?
Someone’s gotta be the Browns.

The Career of Lou Proctor

by Gary Fincke

A press-box telegraph operator added his name and stats to one box score and was subsequently listed in six editions of the Baseball Encyclopedia.

In 1912, for St. Louis,
his name was in the box score.

He batted once — drew a walk,
was left stranded — but at the end

of the season that base on balls
fixed itself in records

as the career of Lou Proctor.
This Bible tells us so.

Six editions in all
where he’s near the one at-bat

of Earl Pruess, who stole
a base after his walk, who scored,

Unlike Lou Proctor, a run.
Holding this sixth edition,

we’re dreamy with lies, though
even here, there’s nothing

about birth or death, home town;
whether he batted right or left.

St. Louis Browns, we read,
American League; in the next

revision he’s gone. This text
is the one to love: we learn

the modesty of Lou Proctor,
the accomplishment of fiction.

 

Gary Fincke writes and teaches at Susquehanna University. Reprinted with permission of the author. Found in Line Drives: 100 Contemporary Baseball Poems (Southern Illinois University Press, 2002).

O

By Dr. Rajesh C. Oza

Like a shintO gOOse egg,
The letter “O” is perfect.

rOOkies Of the Year,
Include a Japanese “O” sect:

1995: nOmO.
2000: kazuhirO.
2001: ichirO.
2018: shOhei.

frOm nippOn’s baseball pantheOn,
There’s One “O”

whO shOuld be in cOOperstOwn:
Sadaharu Oh.

 

Phil Whalen, Zen Master, Meets Orlando Cepeda, First Buddhist Elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame

by Mikhail Horowitz

Does a Baby Bull have Buddha nature?

Not even the wind,
fluttering prayer flags
in the abandoned grandstand,
can say.

Peanuts and popcorn
in your begging bowl,
a pinecone nestled snugly
in your glove.

How many times being hit by a pitch
until you gained enlightenment?

379 homers? Or
379 drops of rain
pelting a temple bell?

Photo by the author’s sister.