Browse all poems and songs in the 'Fans' Category

To Many at Spring Training

by Stephen Jones

You’ve had all winter to think about it:
Those round words — play ball.
You even snugged them in the hollow of your glove.
All winter, they gave it — and you — shape.

Now the waiting’s done, the doors are open,
And cleats grate on locker room floors.
Spring training, and the game, unfolding,
You share space with expectation and hope.


Revived Dauber

by the Village Elliott

Since Game Seven, I’ve laid in the sack
“Let my dauber down,” would not spring back
Then spring training arrived
And my dauber revived
With first ball-hitting-bat’s-sweet-spot’s “crack.”



by Stephen Jones

Doesn’t matter which team you like —
Pitchers and catchers start this week.

“This year it’ll be different,” you avow¬†. . .
Based on what you don’t know right now.

No matter — speculation and hope abound,
And never touch winter’s frozen ground,

And while right now it might be cold and gray,
Dreams float like clouds on a summer day.


Family Celebration

by the Village Elliott

For My Great-Uncle Art

Pleased Cubs fans celebrate victory,
Happy for part of my family:
Mom, who’s from near North Side
Tempered Dad’s Redbird pride,
My St. Louis baseball legacy.

Never had Chitown antipathy
All pervasive in Dad’s family.
Cubs were Mom’s first team,
Cuddly in the extreme,
Part of my gonfalon legacy.

I’ve learned, suggest no Cub fan forgets:
“Fickle Destiny Oft Fails Fans, Vets.”
Fate slammed ’68’s door
On my Cards’ destined score
And “eighty-sixed” the’86 Mets.


The Visitors

by Raphael Badagliacca

Of all the moments in the game
none is more lonely than this . . .
when the visitors wildly exclaim
their joy and celebrate
their happy fate
the less than one percent
like marauders of old
in the sacred home they desecrate
while thousands look on in stony silence.


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Copyright 2007 Bardball.