by Hilary Barta
An ardent and ballsy debater,
At arguing calls none was greater
His jowls had a fit
As he howled and he spit
A gnarly and balding old tater.
Idle Thought
by Stephen Jones
When the smoke finally clears,
sometime later this year…
The American League East
will be a black ‘n blue beast:
No team a clear winner…
but one a survivor.
Alley fights and turf wars–
they’re waged just that way.
The Happening
by Laura Weck
I’d been scoffed and laughed at
Nearly all of my life.
Sox fans screamed in my ear:
“TWO THOUSAND AND FIVE!”
“Just relax,” folks would tell me,
“Ya know it’s just a game:
The pleasure is in watching.
The winning is only fame.”
So every year I always watched.
I laughed and boy I cried,
Religiously taking vitamins
Just in case I’d die.
I vicariously watched the Red Sox
And kept close eye on the score.
So happy was I when they took it all
Back in 2004.
Would I ever experience this pure joy,
When on the north side bells would chime?
Could a World Series ever happen here,
Preferably in my lifetime?
Throngs of people now sport Cub gear,
No longer do I feel alone
After the brilliant harvest
Theo had so thoughtfully sown.
I wonder did it really happen
It still feels a bit like a dream
I take pride in telling White Sox fans:
“TWO THOUSAND AND SIXTEEN!”
Adios, Jimmy
by the Village Elliott
For Jimmy Piersall (11/14/1929 – 6/4/2017)
Jimmy Piersall today passed away
Childhood hero had own style of play
My first glove bore his name
Tried to play game the same
With his glove, learned to field Jimmy’s way.
Jimmy played with unique sense of pride,
Until by his pride Piersall was fried.
After treated with shocks
Rapped with Harry, White Sox,
Only sane man on air, certified.
Bob Dylan’s 2017 Forecast: “With God on Cards’ Side”
By the Village Elliott
Oh, my game, it is baseball.
My home team’s the best,
The team that I root for,
Once league’s furthest west;
I’s taught and brought up where
Redbird fans reside,
Learn the St. Louis Cardinals
Have God on our side.
Learned the game from my father,
Local fan till last day.
Taught me, “Watch your team play, son,
Play the game the right way.”
Watched, rooted, and studied,
Played with own inner pride,
Like I learned as a Cards’ fan
With God on our side.
Have own Hall of Fame Roster
Bat with Redbirds on chest
Diz and Gibby hurled high heat
“Stan the Man’s” still our best
Slats, Pepper, Brock, Cha Cha
Curt Flood’s on-/off-field pride.
My team’s greats played the game right
With God on their side.
I attended first series,
Damn Yanks, ’64.
Teams split the first six games,
Each must win one game more.
Sat with Dad in the bleachers,
Where Mick’s last tater flied.
Final out celebrated
With God on our side.
Beat Damn Yanks for first title.
Old Pete was the gent,
Soon Lou and Babe payback,
In four games Cards are spent.
Split next two, early ’40s,
Wounded Damn Yankees’ pride,
Then they start counting dead boys
With God on their side.
After Second World War, boys,
BoSox dream Cards upend.
Later “Lonborg’s Champagne”
Drink “Impossible’s” end,
But post-Y2K,
Big Papi’s, Sox pride
Twice repay the Redbirds
With God on their side.
Oh, the record book tells it,
It tells it so well: