Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
by Doug Fahrendorff
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I pause to visit
The ballpark in my hometown
The infield covered by a tarp
Of red and orange tinged leaves
Nature as groundskeeper
Heralding the coming of winter
I recall spring days at school
Baseball every recess
The field seemed gigantic then
Less imposing now
After fifty years
Memories are still clear
My infatuation with baseball began here
I turn the collar of my jacket
Against the October wind
And contemplate change.
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Posted 10/13/2009
by Mike Galer
The Tigers play so poorly no one complains.
Twins are so good.
My son starts cheering for Twins.
Knows all the players by name.
His love of Minnesota grows to Gophers and Vikings.
The years go by in a flash.
We smile and chuckle and a rivalry is born.
Detroit can’t win, I am forlorn.
My wife plans a trip to the Mall and 10,000 lakes.
On a whim I buy tickets to a game, for heaven sakes.
We go to the dome, it is 97o outside.
Tigers are winning, only I am cheering.
In the eighth Bonderman unravels.
My son turns to me and says, “This was the greatest of travels,”
“The time of my life,” he says with a smile.
I’ve done something right at least this day.
The Tigers lose on cue to make it complete.
Fans are cheering, I stay in my seat.
As an added bonus, kids run the bases.
My wife chortles, “I’m going too!” as she tightens her laces.
We record the day in film and snapshots,
Walk to the subway, eat ice cream with dots.
A few years have passed and the memories are mine,
When Minnesota beat Detroit was just fine.
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Posted 10/2/2009
By James Finn Garner
“Derrek Lee said 2009 is just one of “those years” and believes the Cubs don’t have to make many changes to get back to playoff form. “It could be totally different [in 2010],” the first baseman said.” — Chicago Tribune, 9/8/2009
This season’s been a let-down.
Except for a bad break or two,
We might be in the thick of things
Instead of trailing by 22.
Heaven knows we tried our best.
You can’t blame us guys on the team.
Every day is a titanic struggle,
No matter how blasé we may seem.
You can’t force these things to happen.
You can’t get too low or too high.
I hope the fans can understand
As another season’s drifted by.
Posted 9/9/2009
by Dan Quisenberry (KC Royals, 1979-1988)
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that first baseball card I saw myself
in a triage of rookies
atop the bodies
that made the hill
we played king of
I am the older one
the one on the right
game-face sincere
long red hair unkempt
a symbol of the ’70s
somehow a sign of manhood
you don’t see
how my knees shook on my debut
or my desperation to make it
the second one I look boyish with a gap-toothed smile
the smile of a guy who has it his way
expects it
I rode the wave’s crest
of pennant and trophies
I sat relaxed with one thought
“I can do this”
you don’t see
me stay up till two
reining in nerves
or post-game hands that shook involuntarily
glory years catch action shots
arm whips and body contortions
a human catapult
the backs of those cards
cite numbers
that tell stories of saves, wins, flags, records
handshakes, butt slaps, celebration mobs
you can’t see
the cost of winning
lines on my forehead under the hat
trench line between my eyes
you don’t see my wife, daughter and son
left behind
the last few cards
I do not smile
I grim-face the camera
tight lipped
no more forced poses to win fans
eyes squint
scanning distance
crow’s-feet turn into eagle’s claws
you don’t see
the quiver in my heart
knowledge that it is over
just playing out the end
I look back
at who I thought I was
or used to be
now, trying to be funny
I tell folks
I used to be famous
I used to be good
they say
we thought you were bigger
I say
I was
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Published 9/2/2009
by James Finn Garner
.
Here’s to the ballhawks, that steadfast elite
Who feel that they’re owed for buying a seat,
Who’ll knock over kids to nab a home run
And hold the ball ransom til somebody comes
Through with free tickets, signed jerseys and swag
To reward them for making their glorious snag.
“A rookie’s first homer?” says a ballhawk with glee.
“Why should I give him the ball back for free?”
These guys deserve something for their tireless work
As parasites, blowhards and self-obsessed jerks.
When their daughters get married, let’s crash the affair,
Charge tolls for the toilets, rent them each chair,
And push over bridesmaids when the bouquet is tossed,
Then take bids to find which girl wants it most.
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Published 8/31/2009