by Stephen Jones
I watched in disbelief.
I can’t get no relief –
From an umpire whose eyesight
Is worse than a badger’s.
Here quoth the baseball,
Its wings made of leather:
“Balls are strikes and
Strikes are balls. Evermore.”
It was then, in my chair,
That I yawned tired air.
I dropped the remote,
And the room did darken . . .
. And a carny voice did harken:
. “Hur-ray! Hur-ray!
. An instant baseball fan solution –
. Coming soon, to your television.
. “Fans – are you tired of bad calls?
. Does the umpire need a vision check?
. Do you think the strike zone
. Moves around too much?
. “Well then, have no fear –
. The solution, it’s right here.
. It’s called ‘Auto-Strike’ –
. The new e-lec-tronic game in town.
. “So, say goodbye to tradition
. And the curse of bad vision.
. ‘Auto-Strike’ will cure
. Each and every umpire call!”
. (Disclaimer: The Salem’s Lot Nine
. Will now miss its boo-and-hiss time
. And the ever-popular fan favorite –
. Burning umpires at the stake.)
Here quoth the baseball,
Its wings made of leather:
“Balls are strikes and
Strikes are balls. Evermore.”
I shifted in my chair,
Of the game unaware,
And continued my reverie
Of balls, strikes . . . and late-night TV.
. Laughter came from off-screen,
. From an audience of the dream,
. And there was a smirking host
. Who thought he was being clever:
. “Just to be clear . . . the ball is scanned,
. Just like cereal or a country ham
. Off a bar code at a grocery store?
. And what would happen then,
. “If it didn’t correctly scan in?
. This is baseball, not a market,
. And you just can’t call out:
. ‘Hey . . . price check, aisle four.’”
Here quoth the baseball,
Its wings made of leather:
“Balls are strikes and
Strikes are balls. Evermore.”
It was almost 2:00 am when I awoke.
An infomercial was spewing smoke
About saving me time and money . . .
And dreams replacing reality.
. “Yessir, yessir . . . get it now, get it here.
. From those folks who brought you
. ‘The Pocket Baseball’ and ‘One-Pitch Wonder’,
. And the ever-popular ‘One That Got Away’.”
Even as I arose and shook my head
And stumbled off to bed,
The sonorous voice behind me said:
“Balls are strikes and
Strikes are balls. Evermore.”
