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Why I Believe in Baseball Gods

by Ryan Diaz

Mets @ Brewers, Final Score: 4-2. METS WIN!

I’m only a pagan come October, when the
air cools and the leaves burn bright
and expectation fills the air like
incense spooling from marble altars,
and prayers like candles light the night.

And maybe Odin, after losing his bout
with Christ, figured an American pastime
.       would have to do, and Zeus
for all his thunder, settled for blessing bats,
heeding the prayers of grown men
.       who long after boyhood still wear
their baseball caps.

Maybe last night, one of them listened,
and in the bottom of the ninth worked
a little magic—and I, agnostic at best, atheist at worst
.       summoned up the faith
to ask for a blast over the right field fence.

Ryan Diaz is a writer and poet from Queens, NY. He is the author of three poetry books — For Those Wandering Along the Way (Wipf & Stock), Skipping Stones (Wipf & Stock) and The Wounded Monk — a chapbook of short poetry, Like Falling Leaves, and a novel, Abuelo: A Memoir. He lives in Queens, NY, with his wife Janiece and his son Damian, and is a lifelong (self-loathing) New York Mets fan.

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The Oakland Blues

by Dr. Rajesh C. Oza

You lose a game,
And it hurts
Like a paper cut.

You don’t make the playoffs,
And it hurts
Like a broken nose.

You lose the last game of the World Series,
And it hurts
Like a Type III fracture.

You lose one hundred and twenty games,
And it still don’t hurt
Like having your heart ripped out.

Becuz’ in your world,
The hurt will heal
As you wait until next year.

Like a rainbow thief, the A’s owner
Has forever stolen the Green & Gold
And left only the Blues.

He’s stealing away,
Up Highway 80 to sAcrAmento,
Chasing a pot o’ gold to lAs vegAs.

The letter “A” has been ripped out of
The O*kl*nd *lph*bet.
And now he*rt sounds like hurt.

A broken old man sits crying
In the desolate Coliseum
With a cancer of the heart.

Becuz’ in his world,
The hurt will metastasize
On every Opening Day.

Dr. Oza’s novel Double Play on the Red Line sits at the intersection of Ernie Banks’ Cubs, the Negro Leagues, riding the El, wrongful convictions, immigration and friendship. It will be published in October 2024 by Chicago’s Third World Press.

 

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Last Call for the Coliseum

by James Finn Garner

As the sun sinks low over East Bay,
We savor the memories of when they’d play,

That team from Oakland in yellow and green
And some of the greatest we’ve ever seen.

Leading off, of course, the immortal Rickey,
Powerful, swift, determined, tricky,

Then lanky, mustachioed Rollie, and who
Can forget Catfish and Vida Blue?

Campy Campaneris and Sal Bando
Thrilled the nascent East Bay fandom

The Swingin’ A’s and Charley O
Kept things jumping, three rings in a row.

Dave Stewart, imposing on the mound,
And Reggie Jackson! Too big for this town

Dennis Eckersley, Jason Giambi,
Dwayne Murphy, Joe Rudi, Rick Monday

A franchise always hurting for cash
Still grew Bob Welch and the Brothers of Bash

And a World Series paused by an earthquake?
These are the things that diehards make.

Rowdy! Joyous! Full-bore! . . . Buzzed?
They didn’t always win, but then who does?

For a snapshot of what it means to be an Oakland A’s fan, check out this article from the SF Chronicle, which is also posting an oral history with players from different eras of the team.