Baby, if you’ve ever wondered,
Wondered whatever became of me,
I’m pitching in the ‘pen in Cincinnati,
Cincinnati, boy are we cra-a-appy.
Getting tired from bailing out our starters
The worst in homers, walks and ERA
Sure, we won’t ever catch the Cubs or Bucs
But with shelling like this, our fans need combat pay.
It’s crappy and I pitch for Cincinnati . . .
by Celeste Johnson
Word spread. Crowds grew. The Giants won on
“Happy Lincecum Day.” Joy suffuse. Happiness shared
Hopes grew . . . at least on the days when the Slight,
Quickly becoming the Beloved, One took the mound.
Poetic motion, Electrifying Stuff. Baseball was fun again.
And off the field the one rapidly becoming known
Only as “Timmy” was engaging, goofy and entirely unique.
Skater caps and a smile that lit up his entire face
Happy emotion pouring through letting us know
He was marveling at this as much as the Faithful.
He slipped into our hearts and gave us joy . . .
That was then, and this is now.
Staring at the finality (at least for now as the heart
Never stops hoping for Reunion.) But for now
We must accept that the Beloved may not
Grace the Orange and Black and the Gem
At Third and King will lack its brightest little star.
Unimaginable, but reality does not bow to the
Unimaginable simply because We wish it,
Unimaginable, that another color should blur
In front of our eyes as mesmeric motion unfurls.
Unimaginable . . .
Supplication only partially granted
We must move on. There will be others,
There are others now that don the Orange and Black,
To make us smile, to bring us joy even.
And we will love them. But there will be
A difference. Not all difference is bad and this is not
But it will not be the Beloved, the Slight one.
The One who brought hope to the baseballing heart
Of the City by the Bay. Hope that crystallized into
Three glowing rings that we will always cherish.
The Beloved, our brightest little star may not grace
The Orange and Black again, but the love remains
Imprinted upon the heart and we can only hope that
Joy returns to his own heart and the mound once again
A wondrous place. So it is Goodbye and
Somehow “Thank You” are words too small to
Encompass the gift of Time and Memories given,
But they will have to do for now.
And always the love remains strong. Forever Giant.
by Stu Shea
The harpies harp on Harper
They say he’s immature
I’ll take him and his moods
Whether pure, poor, or manure.
by Hilary Barta
With apologies to Ernest Lawrence Thayer
On the North side and the South side, the sun is shining bright;
“Go, Cubs, Go” and “Na na na na” are heard both day and night;
Both Yuppies and construction guys are given cause to shout;
Yes, there’s joy in two Chicagos — winning baseball’s the new “clout”.
by Stuart Shea
“Rabbit Ears,” the fans all say . . .
“Rabbit Ears,” stick to the play!
Don’t chase after players; don’t be dumb,
Don’t look for a reason to use your thumb
Don’t be so sensitive to criticism,
Even if your work is seen through a prism
That blows up each and every mistake
That a home plate umpire seems to make.
Otherwise, plate umpires soon may be
As useful as rabbit ears on a TV.