Hope, Diamond

by James Finn Garner

A hundred bucks for an obstructed seat
Cold in the shadow, then blistering heat
The pushy stat-head who needs a shower
Nine inning games that last six hours
Fans in my row with tiny bladders
The $30 million .240 batter
Ear-blistering rock soundtrack
Fourteen dollar Cracker Jacks
Security lines that go on for days
Video reviews, endless delays
Wasted bankers on company plastic
Knucklehead experts so bombastic
Lazy players, greedy owners
Chatterboxes, needy loners
Pina colada spilled down my back–

Goddamnit, I want baseball back!

The Blame Game

by Millie Bovich

It isn’t lack of baseball fans
It isn’t ‘cause of other plans

It isn’t ‘cause of thun’dring rain
It isn’t players wracked with pain

It’s not because of umps on strike
Or no announcer on the mike

It isn’t players’ salaries low
Or opening days with threat of snow

So why is it that we’re not jovial?
Just one reason, it’s microbial!

Memories of Marty

by Stuart Shea

A voice, clear-channel, fills the Midwestern night
As a teenager listens in bed.
Pete, Doggie, Griffey, Little Joe,
“And this one belongs to the Reds!”

The young man, driving back from work,
World Series dreams in his head.
Soto, Rijo, Sabo, Larkin,
“And this one belongs to the Reds!”

The Reds collapsed, immortals gone,
Votto and Gray in their stead.
Nearly 50 years on, Marty is gone. . .
This one belonged to the Reds.

Gary Thorne Has Gleyber Pains

or, “Groundhog Day with Gopher Balls”

By Michael X. Ferraro

Every day is Gleyber Day
when the Yankees play the O’s.
Torres is on a homer
spree against those hapless foes.

The Baltimore play-by-play
man, beleaguered Gary Thorne,
calls out each successive blast
with a blend of awe and scorn.

His cries are existential,
and his puzzlement profound
as 13 times this season
the young Bomber’s trotted ‘round.

Colleagues come to heckle Thorne
in a breach of protocol,
but what can you say on Gleyber
Day, except… “Touch ’em all!”

https://www.mlb.com/cut4/gleyber-torres-homers-vs-orioles-announcers-laugh