by Hilary Barta
Santo screams himself hoarse (Volume Eleven)
Seems his team has just forced a Game Seven
Angel Brickhouse is merry
Getting pickled is Caray
Banks just beams from, of course, baseball heaven.
The Season, the Best Since Forty-Five
by Millie Bovich
You know Caray, up in Heaven, followed each and every game
Although without his booming voice, it hasn’t been the same.
But the coaches and the fans alike were giving all they had
And the Cubbie team reciprocated, winning games like mad.
Some games were rough and tumble, and some an easy nine.
Fans took the bitter with the sweet, no reason to malign.
They studied all opponents, not a game they chose to lose,
And the coaches had much input and advised with all their clues.
The loyal fans attended, Wrigley almost burst its seams
For the season, best in decades, for the season of their dreams.
While the schedule wore on daily from the first game to the last
And most the time we celebrated, watched the home team blast.
The “Ws” were piling up, and fans were quite amazed
With wins from Kyle and his bunch, Chicago woke up dazed.
And when the season ended with the stats all in the books,
Our Cubbies ended right on top, no more the dirty looks.
Now way above old Wrigley Field there flies the pennant flag.
We’ve reason now to hold heads high, we’ve reason now to brag.
And the cheering, oh the cheering, is reverberating now
From Chicago, Mrs. Murphy, and the famed O’Leary cow.
So Caray rests so peacefully, a smile upon his face.
At last his team, Chicago Cubs, has surely won the race.
Soon the Indians come a’calling, and there’s fervor in their eyes
We are ready, set for action – GO CUBS! GO BEAT THOSE GUYS!
While Millie Bovich is our senior Tigers correspondent, she also claims a loyalty to Chicago due to five years’ living in Riverside and Des Plaines, IL.
It’s Math Time with Joe Buck!
by James Finn Garner
If you want to learn this game baseball,
Joe Buck is the guy to call.
No matter what your rooting position
He can help you do the addition.
If you yourself couldn’t add the same:
“One homer makes this a five-run game.”
Stumped by three innings times three outs?
“Nine chances left,” the perfesser shouts.
But you might never grasp one call:
Why this putz is employed at all.
Fordham’s Second Great Flash
by the Village Elliott
One year longer than, on earth, I’ve been here,
Dodger fans, first in Flatbush, would hear . . .
Til Brooklyn’s heart’s busted . . .
Then L.A. adjusted
To Voice who taught the Game loud and clear.
In three-score seven years “Bums’ Spoken”,
No one claimed Vin Scully’s home-chokin’.
Fordham’s “Second Great Flash”
Longtime broadcasting smash
“Length of Service” will remain unbroken.
Voices, Still
By Stuart Shea
Mr. Scully hangs up his microphone,
Dick Enberg does as well.
Bill Brown retires from Houston’s booth,
Ain’t it the truth–
Things ain’t like they used to be.
Things ain’t like they used to sound.
The men who call the games
Don’t have the varied background
Of the older famous names.
Oh, the older famous names,
With their gravitas and experience,
They understand the common sense
Of silence.
Now they’ll be silent forevermore,
Closing the door
On a time and a style that will never return.