My Most Memorable Day
by Charlie Manuel
“It was a warm day in August when history was made,
And the fans in the boxes were looking for shade.
The bases were loaded, it was the last inning.
From the sound of the crowd, you knew we weren’t winning.
When out of the dugout came No. 3,
The last hope for the Twins it was sure to be.
Now legend tells of Casey at the bat,
But today it was the Killer who tipped his hat.
Cursing and swearing came from the stands,
When Harmon was waved back by Rigney’s hand.
An astonishing look came over the Brew’s face,
When Rigney said, ‘Manuel is taking your place.’
A disbelieving look as he turned around,
Placed his bat in the rack without a sound.
Then from the bench came No. 9,
Who’d been warming the pine for a long, long time.
As he stepped from the dugout came a yell from the stands,
‘You can’t hit Manuel, the Killer’s our man.’
Never before in history had they pinch hit for the Brew,
Especially with some hillbilly hitting .182.
This was a mockery, a dirty rotten shame,
To pinch hit for a man who’s a sure Hall of Fame.
But Charlie heard not a word as he strode to the plate.
He only noticed the crowd’s eyes; they were filled with hate.
‘God, help me this one time,’ kept going through his mind.
‘If I ever get a hit, let it be this time.’
Jim Palmer looked in and thought, ‘This should be a cinch,
I’ll throw three by this rider of the bench.’
Down came the ball with a little white glare,
As Manuel stood watching for he knew it was there.
‘Strike one,’ came the call from the man in blue,
And four pitches later it was 3 and 2.
Now everything rode on the very last pitch.
Would Charlie stay a poor boy or would he suddenly be rich?
The crack of the bat and a long drive to right,
The back of Blair’s uniform is the only thing in sight.
The roar from the stands gave a deafening scream…
Then Charlie fell out of bed, it was only a dream.”
From the Cleveland Indians website 2000. Copyright c by Charlie Manuel. Discovered on the Baseball Almanac website.
Posted 7/22/2010
On the Minnesota Twins’ First Rainout at Target Field
By Stuart Shea
They live and die by the weather in this town.
It’s headline stuff when the snow starts coming down.
But still I didn’t expect the thing I viewed:
That a rainout made the top of the evening news.
Posted 5/9/10
American League Central 2010 Haiku Forecasts
By Stuart Shea
WHITE SOX
A Putz in the ‘pen,
Another in the dugout,
Not just birds Twitter.
.
INDIANS
No more wedge issues.
It’s time to see just how good
This ballclub can be.
.
TIGERS
A brand new springtime?
Whatchoo talkin’ bout, Willis?
This is your autumn.
.
ROYALS
Inevitable
As tulips and tree pollen,
95 losses.
.
TWINS
Mauer power is
Ensured for many more moons
In the new playpen.
Posted 4/11/2009
Elegy
by Ember Nickel
.
Raise up a roof, the finest of its day.
“No longer,” boast, “shall rain or snow deter
Our baseball games; we’ll always get to play.
Whatever the weather, we won’t defer.”
Raise up your eyebrows and mutter along.
“This thing’s ugly.” “This is a piece of junk.”
“Who built this mess, and where did they go wrong?”
“Did anybody realize that it stunk?”
Raise up your voices, fill the roof with sound.
Don’t worry if, when on the road, they lose.
They’ll come back home and then they’ll come around.
We have home-field advantage, what good news!
Raise up the flags, the pennants proudly won.
No matter if one season we’re the worst.
We’ll rally back, we’ll never say we’re done
Till we raise the second flag, again first.
Raise up a generation till they love
The game, but subtly imply they should hate
The field they see. Whisper “blue sky above
Is what you want–this all is second-rate.”
Raise your shoulders if they ever ask why.
Shrug, write it off, until they do not know
What’s wrong with what they have. “Who needs the sky?”
You’ll hear them wonder. “We can’t see it. So?”
Raise up the record: “Cool things at one site.”
World Series! Super Bowl! The Final Four!
The All-Star game! Oops–college game tonight.
Finish the baseball later. Out the door.
Raise new foundations to the north and west
As triumphant years give way to malaise.
“No, no!” claim. “This new field will be the best!”
Hyping it up with such premature praise.
Then suddenly your suspicions are raised.
They can’t come back. Not this late. Not this far
Down in the standings. But the fans who praised
The team all along still believe. They are
Standing and yelling, raising themselves out
From their seats. And now the team too will rise.
The final weeks are what it’s all about,
The final push until you reach the prize.
Raise up your hopes. Lose game one-sixty-three.
But keep the hopes high. You’ll get them next year,
Rallying back at the last. Can it be?
Most of our hopes already beyond here
We win nevertheless, for we still care.
You thought you’d given up–this was your proof.
You’re not jaded. You’ll cheer when the field’s there.
That’s all you need to know. Raze now the roof.
.
For more of Ember’s marvelous writing, check out her blog, Lipogram! Scorecard!
Posted 10/19/2009
Yankees, 2009 Immortals
By Kevin Hennessy
.
When the Twins face the Yankees,
Mere mortals we don’t just see:
Gods as great as those of Greeks
Stand upon tall mountain peaks.
A-Rod, king of playoff clutch,
Jeter, dare we stray too much?
Mark T., we should four-ball pass,
Jorge? He isn’t out of gas.
Then the bullpen, dare we see?
Lights out when we think of thee!
Mariano, four outs, one two three!
(Four, with a single scattered in betwee’)
Gardenhire says, “We don’t play with our wallets,”
But 0-10 don’t sit well on our palates.
Sobbing into our homer hankies,
We bow to and worship the dreaded Yankees.
.
Posted 10/15/2009
