Browse all poems and songs in the 'Food' Category

Where the Tigers Play

by Millie Bovich

If you walk around the ballfield in the darkness of the night
If you let your mind just wander, love of baseball comes to light.

For the ballpark is enchanted and its magic doesn’t cease
Sights and smells and sounds surround it, though it seems at last at peace.

Love of baseball never leaves you, always there at your behest
And the players ever loyal, always there to do their best.

On the wall, the tigers crouching, prowling in protective guard
Watching well for no intrusion of their namesake’s sacred yard.

No flags waving to remind us of the teams that come to play
No lights shining, chasing darkness, making night as bright as day.

You’ll hear cheers and jeers diminished of the season’s games well played
Gone forever, not forgotten, though particulars may fade.

And the dust of sliding runners, safe despite the sizzled throw
In the air it seems to linger as the seasons come and go.

Yes, the losing is quite painful, and the “W” like gold
A no-hit game so special and a happy story told.

Smells of vendors’ foods have lingered as the wafting breeze will show
Stimulating well your senses, scents you miss and love and know.

And the scoreboard shows no numbers, no statistics grace its face
Stats invisible and hidden till next season’s welcome race.

In your eyes the park is empty all the seats in silence wait
For the fans again rejoicing, for the opening of the gate!


Millie Bovich may be the oldest fan and regular contributor to Bardball. “I had the pleasure of meeting  All-Star Johnny Pesky when he visited the Detroit office of the FBI where I worked,” she writes, “and met and married a special agent from New York and made a Tigers fan out of him!”


Victory Lapped Up

by Hilary Barta

It’s brutal, New York in a sweep
Our beautiful dreams in a heap
St. Louis, detested,
Chicago had bested
But swept by the Mets? What the bleep!


Each step that the Cubbies had made
Champagne in the clubhouse was sprayed
But now all the fun
Brut showers are done
For losing they hold no parade.


The unknowns on the Cubs have made gains
But have shown that some work still remains
On youth the team’s based
And a truth must be faced:
With growing there always comes pains.


The Alcoholic Cub Fan’s Next Request

By Stuart Shea

I’d rather drink Harvey’s Bristol Creme
Than watch Matt Harvey shut down my team.


No Stomach

By Hilary Barta

Defeating the Cards isn’t easy
So much so the Cubs went all squeeze-y
The suicides worked
Garcia looked irked
Though later he claimed he felt queasy.


The Passion of Sean Rodriguez

By James Finn Garner

You think all your dues’ve been paid
You’d love a post-season parade
But Jake Arrieta
Could not have been better —
What to do except punch Gator-Ade?


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Copyright 2007 Bardball.