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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.

 

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Clemente’s Throw

by Ron Halvorson

All the OG sluggers the Old Fans watched play at Candlestick Park–
Miracle Mays, Mighty McCovey, Cyclone Cepeda, Uppercut Evans, Angry Jack Clark, King Kong Kingman, Redneck Jeff Kent, Mayhem Matt Williams,
and the Millennial Enigma himself—Titanic Barry Bonds!

But all those star shots launched into the infamous Candlestick jet stream
pale in comparison to the atomic arm displayed by visiting Pirate Roberto Clemente in 1968.

Old Fan still visualizes that cold, windy summer night,
watching Clemente dashing for, scooping up the bouncing baseball,
Negotiating the warning track deep in right-center field.

Clemente as whirling dervish spinning,
Athletic possession,
hardwired into baseball poetry,
like a Rumi poem divinely inspired.

Clemente’s arm now dispossessed from the body,
Superpower unleashed,
Following through like an Olympian hammer thrower.

Then the baseball rose into the fluorescent lights,
Gaining altitude,
Higher than a wicked drive by McCovey,
Now level with the disbelieving eyes of Old Fan in the upper deck behind home plate.

Who needs a cut-off man?
Not Clemente.

The majestic arc,
Seemingly suspended in the ethos,
slowly descended,
as the lumbering Giant runner rounded third base.

Into the waiting big paws of the Pirate catcher,
Who stood nonchalantly on top of home plate,
Clemente’s mighty heave softly fell.

The dead duck Giant runner?
He just stopped,
Staring in disbelief,
As the laughing catcher tagged him out.

So wax poetic about Clemente’s throws,
All you talking heads on the radio,
Who wish you saw him play.

Well, that foggy night at Candlestick,
During the summer of love in iconic San Francisco–
It ain’t on the internet.

That throw was visceral, not virtual–
You had to be there,
Amid the blowing hot dog wrappers and wafting cannabis smoke.

We were there, and you weren’t—
Old fans, real eyes,
Witnessing the Great Clemente live.

Ron Halvorson is a freelance writer and lifelong San Francisco Giants fan who went to his first game at windy Candlestick Park in the early 1960s.

 

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The Bambino’s New Clothes

by James Finn Garner

They just auctioned off the shirt
Worn by the Babe when he put the hurt
On the Cubs in the Series of ’32.
We all fall for this dippity-do
Of the “called shot”, yet
The Babe himself plumb forgot
To mention it ’til 20 years later,
Making it a stale, strange tater.
Would Cubs pitcher Root, further,
Not have wished that showboat murder
And thrown a fastball at his ear
Next time up, to local cheers?
It’s a myth, okay? A tall tale, a fable.
Just ‘cuz the sellers say they are able
To verify the jersey through “photo-match”,
And other wits say aye, the whole klatsch
Is in the end a suspicious familia,
All making bank on each other’s memorabilia.

What was true then is true now, don’t be mistaken:
There’s one born every minute, and two to take him.

Babe Ruth ‘called shot’ Yankees jersey fetches record $24M