by James Finn Garner
On a trek to find Life’s true essence,
I sought audience with a holy presence.
He knew my puzzle before I’d begun:
“There are, my son, but 3 true outcomes.”
He beamed contentedly, while I mused
Then admitted I was confused.
“Hold on a sec…only 3? That’s…”
He sighed and told me: “When you bat
“Only 3 true outcomes await:
A strikeout, when you swing too late;
A walk, earned by much restraint;
A home run, which never meets complaint.”
He smiled, satisfied, and yet
I was no wiser than ere we met.
“Old dude, your thinking is reductive,
Omitting more ways to be productive.
“If hitting singles isn’t ‘true”,
Then what of Collins, Suzuki, Carew?
What of the chaos of stolen bases?
Henderson or Brock, off to the races!
“If a double clearing runners doesn’t count,
You snub Musial, Rose and Robin Yount.
What about plunking, triples or bunts?
Your ‘wisdom’? Blather from desperate commentators.”
As I rose to leave, his smile faded.
Too many seasons had left him jaded.
“You’re right,” he said, “I’ve been seduced,
My pure joy for the game reduced.
“I’ve wasted too much time with stat heads.
Now I’m just a pompous fathead.”
“Stay open,” I urged, “seek beauty in each frame.”
“Yes, son, I will–what’s the line on tonight’s game?”
