Not Selling Out, Buying In!
By Joe Moag
In the wake of Blackhawks glory
Here in June’s endemic swoon
The heart craves a better story
One where Cubs will shoot the moon!
But the standings tell no lies
And October fades from view
When hitters swat like flies
It’s time to seek a sport brand new
See, October was the goal
With World Series dreams at ready.
But now Niemi fills that role!
And I dream of June confetti!
Posted 7/1/10
With Love and Ancient Cautions: From a Wood Fan to a Strasburg Fan
By Joe Moag
Unto He!
Unto He, the new rookie,
He with an arm fit to hoist Zeus’ bolt,
Fit to slay our past; fit to redeem our degradations.
Unto He, our welcomed savior!
A reprieve from years of ill, from years of doubt,
From years of lowness.
Unto He, the Lifter!
Unto He, the Changer!
Unto He, the Future!
Unto He, Alleviator of this state
Of prolonged exile, of overdue vengeance,
Of our just and righteous payback!
Unto He we place this proof
That our faith, traveled across orphanage and dismissal,
Our Faith, that thing
Which steeled our resolve
To simply stay in the game long enough,
Has borne fruit! It has brought
Him, here, to Us.
No light as bright as this has ever shone, only to
Fall away in wreckage through the dimming of life’s cold onslaughts and hurly-burl!
Immortals don’t flinch, or suffer, or miss their mark – they shine!
Our wait itself is the toil and testament to the surety of this!
This Game and its Gods, who sit high and low,
Sworn sacred to the mischief in their souls
Could never be jealous enough
To make this foreseen future, this deserved fate,
Fall short.
Posted 6/27/10
Cub Relief to Summer’s Daily Grind
By Joe Moag
Our summer game’s true grab
On people’s hearts and minds
Is that after taking crap at work
We turn on Channel 9.
As we finish up our dinners,
As we tuck our kids in bed;
As we plop down on the couch
To try and rest our addled heads;
Len and Bob jump on our screens
And hail the pending win:
“The Cubs are set for battle,
SO LET THE GAME BEGIN!”
By the third, Lee has struck out twice,
Ramirez popped to short;
Theriot has swung through three:
He’s allergic to the walk.
By the fifth our pitcher’s bothered–
After all, he’s done his best;
He’s let in only two runs
But that’s two more than he’ll get.
See Cubs hitters swear their oath
To swing at every pitch!
Regardless of location,
Regardless of “the sitch”!
Swing boys, SWING! is their new mantra
It’s something you can’t teach–
When the bat is flailing wildly
At a pitch that’s out of reach.
By the bottom of the ninth
After three are up and down,
Len and Bob say, “Join us
When tomorrow, ‘it’s back on!’”
Posted 6/23/10
Free Bat Day, Tiger Stadium, 1971
by James Finn Garner
.
Rallies were exciting,
Cheers a clanging roar
When each kid 14 and under
Got a bat at the stadium door.
They pounded on the railings,
The seats, pillars and floor,
Then they pounded on each other–
Bats ain’t given out no more.
.
Posted 6/22/10
I Fart* (Lacking)
by Sid Yiddish
.
As noisy as one lone cricket
That is the ticket
To the next movement
For a winning team
But sadly there is never much steam for an under-.500 ball club
The very idea would make all those previous Hall of Fame heroes roll over in their graves
The same men a little past 100 years ago clung to fame
For the pure integrity of winning a game
Now wins and constantly loses
There becomes a choice which one chooses, and sadly reality shows that no matter which age is chosen for flight, a team so old as them beginning to lose the fight
Earlier and earlier each season
The relative jerking and continual line of quaking and quirking from players blaming a team for simply not working hard enough to the relative goal–I’ve heard this all before
From the local newspaper to the TV news
That if it’s not the economy or the stock market,
It’s the Boys of Summer with a worsening case of major league blues
This is the pure reason
Why I can’t stand to see grown men cry
To bear, to wince, to moan, to not understand as much as they try
That for which is called baseball my favorite sport
Is getting the shove like your favorite cousin Mort straight out the door
The old and the young simply don’t care anymore
Giving up so fast is so damned easy.
.
*”I fart” does not refer to the act of flatulence, rather it’s a Danish term for speed
Posted 6/16/2010
