Late autumn brings damp and rain;
The baseball season is over again.
The Redbirds were soaring;
Their fans were roaring.
And Texas went home empty-handed.

The holidays and new year’s come,
Bringing dreams of series rings to everyone.
The hot stoves start burning,
With free agent yearning,
And revulse at the salaries commanded.

Spring brings tulips and green grass.
Training and opening day are here at last.
Northern fans bundle for the game,
Southern weather is a lot more tame.
And all hope to catch a foul single-handed.

The late Samuel Henry Donham (a college and semi-pro first baseman whose career ended in injury, and later a junior high baseball coach) instilled a love of baseball in his family, including his daughter-in-law Becky. She is a longtime Cubs fan whose faith is wavering.

In the winter they swarm to Caracas
Where the fans, true to form, shake maracas
.      Down there all the players
.      Don’t wear many layers
As the sun keeps them warm in the tuchas.

New York, London, Paris, Munich
Everybody talk about, mmm….
Pop music, aye, and news and sport
But to Bardball blast, we must retort

From the bleachers, and godly seats
Loving testimonies – and testy tweets
Au contraire, in Europe there is but little
Interest – like our economy, entirely brittle

In our excitement, we do refrain
From all small talk of one Ferris Fain
Unknown to us, across the Golden Pond
In our view, his sport just a frond

Of the nascent game we called rounders
Those damn Yankees – cads and bounders!

I’ll never see his like again,
My favourite hitter, Ferris Fain.

In London, Amsterdam and Paris,
They talk of nothing else but Ferris.

He always managed to amaze,
This handsome batsman of the A’s.

In 2002, George Bowering was appointed the first Parliamentary Poet Laureate of Canada.  His newest book, The Diamond Alphabet, is now available from BookThug.

This World Series sure done went screwy
with champs being wild card St. Looey
.     Midwest thinks it’s grand
.     but Cubs fans sneer and
collectively catcall, “Ah, Phooey!”

I wish Detroit had gone farther,
not so quickly emptied their larder
.     but I feel I’m in luck
.     to not hear Joe Buck
and double that for Colonel McCarver.

A Cubs fan laments of Cardinal success,
In the face of Philly’s utter Yankee-ness,
And Arizona’s owner’s militant anti-immigrant mess,
Of Milwaukee’s ties to the Commish’s anti-player caress…
Fans of cursed fate are sad to witness.

It’s been a good year,
And we still have beer.
Prince may be gone,
But our buzz is still on.

Was it the last dance?
The last dance for John and Suzy’s broadcast love
No, no, their last chance?
To get us to a big dance Thurs night
We need them beside us
Beside us, to guide us
Their boldness, that unfolds us
‘Cause when they’re sad
We’re so, so sad

So let’s not dance the last dance
No, no last dance
No, no last dance Thurs night

Was it the last dance?
The last dance for John and Suzy’s broadcast love
No, no their last chance?
To get us to the big dance Thurs night
We need them beside us
Beside us, to guide us
Their boldness, that unfolds us
‘Cause when they’re glad
We’re so, so glad

So let’s not dance the last dance
No, no last dance
No, no last dance thurs night

You can find more of David’s work throughout the Yankee blog, It Is High, It Is Far, It Is…..caught.

For more on The Baseball Project, visit their website.