By James Callan
The crack of the bat is more addicting than crack
or crackerjacks, for that matter,
as the batter cracks a jack
into the third deck, oh heck!
It clips the end of my glove,
my beer, obliterated on the big screen above.
While down on the diamond, bat flip, mad pride,
silver or gold bobbing with the swag of each stride
as some Bronx Bomber rounds the bases,
all those loud, elated New York faces.
And me, in my Twins hat
wishing just once that
1991 would come again,
Homer Hanky, Minnesota zen.
Me, still thinking about Chili Davis, Kirby Puckett.
Another sub-500 year; you know what? Fuck it.
James Callan grew up in Minneapolis. He lives on the Kāpiti Coast, New Zealand and is more than likely the biggest Twins baseball fan in the country. He lives on a small farm with his wife Rachel and his little boy Finn.
