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Baseball Cards

by Dan Quisenberry  (KC Royals, 1979-1988)

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that first baseball card I saw myself
in a triage of rookies
atop the bodies
that made the hill
we played king of
I am the older one
the one on the right
game-face sincere
long red hair unkempt
a symbol of the ’70s
somehow a sign of manhood
you don’t see
how my knees shook on my debut
or my desperation to make it

the second one I look boyish with a gap-toothed smile
the smile of a guy who has it his way
expects it
I rode the wave’s crest
of pennant and trophies
I sat relaxed with one thought
“I can do this”
you don’t see
me stay up till two
reining in nerves
or post-game hands that shook involuntarily

glory years catch action shots
arm whips and body contortions
a human catapult
the backs of those cards
cite numbers
that tell stories of saves, wins, flags, records
handshakes, butt slaps, celebration mobs
you can’t see
the cost of winning
lines on my forehead under the hat
trench line between my eyes
you don’t see my wife, daughter and son
left behind

the last few cards
I do not smile
I grim-face the camera
tight lipped
no more forced poses to win fans
eyes squint
scanning distance
crow’s-feet turn into eagle’s claws
you don’t see
the quiver in my heart
knowledge that it is over
just playing out the end

I look back
at who I thought I was
or used to be
now, trying to be funny
I tell folks
I used to be famous
I used to be good
they say
we thought you were bigger
I say
I was

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Published 9/2/2009

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Pastime

by Casey Hannan

At a baseball game, so high up
the birds seem bigger than the players,
bigger than the crowned lion mascot,
and bigger even, than my expectations,
because, you see, I didn’t root, root, root,
for anyone. The Royals sucked and the
Rangers were visitors, so it was
heresy to cheer when they won, which
I think they did, though it’s hard to
remember when all I see, looking back
through the heat, hazy like it is in a
too hot car, is a crowd of people all
trying not to fling themselves onto
the field, so green you could swim
in it, to cool down to the most basic
part of the experience: American History
and the obligation spun from those pages.

For more of Casey’s poetry, check out his blog, Poetry, DUH.

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Posted 8/4/2009

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AMERICAN LEAGUE CENTRAL 2009 HAIKU FORECASTS

By Stuart Shea

WHITE SOX
From dawn to midnight
Glistening sweat beads cover
Guillen’s press spokesmen.

TWINS
Sweet April moonlight
Means “farewell” if the Twins are
Without Joe Mauer.

INDIANS
Each cool autumn
Indians fans get just the
Thin end of the Wedge.

ROYALS
Gold Kansas wheatfields
Yield more each season than
Green fields at Kauffmann.

TIGERS
A solar eclipse
Can’t match the disappearance
Of Dontrelle’s control.

Posted 4/1/09

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2008 AMERICAN LEAGUE THREE-LINE TEAM PREVIEWS

BALTIMORE

Is it too late to call Cal?
Or even Bob Bonner?
With Hernandez or Fahey, the season’s a goner.

BOSTON

The pitching staff is shot to hell.
With Schilling, Beckett, and Colon unwell,
They’re Dice-rolling at the opening bell.

CHICAGO

Will the Sox get greedy
With Crede?
Watch your back, Ozzie—or, rather, watch Joe’s.

CLEVELAND

It’s time for the talent to show.
And with any luck (please, God)…
Maybe a new logo?

DETROIT

No injury worries—not even a tinge!
When any Tiger feels a twinge,
They’ll call on Brandon Inge.

KANSAS CITY

Tote that Bale, lift that Gload,
Another long year in KC?
Or a renaissance? These kids are beginning to be.

LOS ANGELES

K-Rod,
And Vlad the Impaler,
And a bunch of young pitchers hopping out of a trailer.

MINNESOTA

No cash for Johan or Torii,
But there’s money for Nathan—within reason—
Though he pitches just 70 innings a season.

NEW YORK STATE OF MIND

The Yankees won’t listen to reason!!
They’ll pull out their Wang
To open the season!!

OAKLAND

What’s that sound from the Street?
Is it Foulke music so sweet?
Oh, it’s Rich Harden’s shoulder, grinding like meat.

SEATTLE

Half the team has reached the big three-oh,
And aside from Ichiro,
There’s a lot of “don’t know.”

TAMPA BAY

They sent Longoria to Triple-A
To reduce his service time? Feh!
This franchise is still the pride of Mephistofele.

TEXAS

Trouble children, like Bradley and Hamilton,
And a pitching staff
Of no wheat and all chaff.

TORONTO

Toronto has Coats.
Maybe they’ll avoid
A cold April.

Posted 3/31/08