by the Nightmares
by the Brewer Haiku-er (@brew_haiku)
Brewers 7, Pirates 4
PNC boos Braun
So he steps up and jacks one
2 homers 2 nite
Pirates 5, Brewers 0
When the Brewers lose
They do it in a big way
Ain’t no runs tonight
Pirates 9, Brewers 3
No comeback today
Crew makes a dent in the 4th
McCutch slams door shut
Follow the Brewer Haiku-er on Twitter for updates every day (@brew_haiku).
by Gene Fendt
“At 8-1, the Cubs are off to their best start since 1969”
–news story, April 15, 2016
They’re hanging the bunting at Wrigley
. a hundred years after the Babe;
so many have waited so long for this day
. it’s hard to believe what we see.
My childhood knows Santo, Kessinger, Beckert and Banks,
. the trade of Lou Brock, the umpire’s mistake,
facing Giants and Pirates and Hammering Hank,
. the line-up of Bench, Morgan, Rose and Perez,
the grace of Clemente before he was dead,
. the stare-down of Gibson, Bob Veale and Koufax’s crank:
Lou Boudreau on radio made it appear
. as Athena to Hector, when Achilles was near.
The world is unworthy of childhood faith,
. the utter incorrigible truth of its love,
its weeping for heroes defeated by fate,
. its Aprils and Augusts, stolen bases, gold gloves.
All that is over. It’s daytime, there’s ivy,
. it’s got God’s own green grass,
the bunting is hanging, and so soon you’ll see
. God himself in his garden, all home at last.
Gene Fendt has taught philosophy for 29 years at the University of Nebraska, but grew up in Wisconsin listening to WGN, “radio home of millions throughout mid America.” His poetry most recently has captured the Princemere Poetry Prize (2015) and won the Gemini Magazine national poetry competition.
by the Village Elliott
For the “Lords of Baseball”
Big league tradition, “Opening Day.”
Cincinnati, where first game they’d play.
Reds: Godfather of those
Teams comprised of all pros
Signed to play for a full season’s pay.
Now there is no more “Opening Day.”
Openings staggered o’er three day’s play.
New big league ambition
To start new tradition:
Big TV payoff pays season’s way.
by Millie Bovich
Sometimes you wonder who’s in charge
Who makes the schedule for the sport,
Who leaves the southern ballparks dark
And schedules op’ners for “up nort”.
In early April flakes could fly–
Come to think, they often do.
What makes them think that teams could play
And still stay warm in frozen dew?
The infield’s cold, the outfield too.
The pitcher’s arm is wrapped as well.
The catcher mutters thru his cage
Baseball in April’s “cold as hell”.
The dugout heatlamps do their job,
The team enjoys its moments there,
But when the ump calls outs are three
They rise and rush to arctic air.
And how about devoted fans?
They sit and cheer in bundled clothes
And stamp their feet to make blood flow
And cup their hands to warm their nose!
The vendors’ ice cream doesn’t sell,
Not much desire for frothy beer.
Fans huddle close on tushes cold
And pull their hoodies ’round each ear.
Let’s solve the problem now for sure:
Play April ball down south or west.
I must complain and make it known
That my solution is the best.
The baseball season’s not too long.
The country just can’t wait for play.
Above the Mason Dixon line
Home openers start in balmy May.
The schedule maker is the guy
About whose skill there is some doubt.
Just call him on the carpet and
Just raise your thumb and yell “yer out!”
Millie Bovich, one of our favorite contributors, has been a Tigers fan since the days of Mickey Cochrane and Charlie Gehringer.