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A Open Letter to Faux Cub Fans

by Becky Binks and Cary Donham

Rule #1
Back before Harry Caray, Santo, and Hughes
The bleachers held young actors paying their dues.
But Belushi and Murray knew Rule Number 1:
Remember, always, there’s a game going on.

Rule #2
Buy a scorecard, keep score, and follow along.
If you don’t know how, there’s an app on your phone.
Sit your butt down when you hear, “Down in front!”
Remember Rule Number 1: there’s a game going on.

Rule #3
Don’t go to get nachos when a runner’s on base.
Ignore your full bladder, that babe you might chase.
Just get up between innings or when a pitcher is gone.
Remember Rule Number 1: there’s a game going on.

Rule #4
Don’t sit back of home plate and gab on your phone.
When you show up on TV, you’ll look like a clown.
Get back to your scorecard; you might miss a home run.
Remember Rule Number 1: there’s a game going on.

Rule #5
The game lasts nine innings, don’t have any doubt.
Don’t stand for the pitcher until the last out.
Standing adds drama that doesn’t belong,
Remember Rule Number 1: there’s a game going on.

Rule #6
Remember that baseball’s the reason you came,
There’re plenty of sports bars for after the game.
No one cares how much cash you paid your salon,
Remember Rule Number 1: there’s a game going on.

The wife-and-husband team of Becky Binks and Cary Donham intrepidly support the Cubs from the far South Side enclave of Beverly.

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An Ode to Bright House Field (With No Mention of the Hooters Ball Girls)

by Joyce Heiser

We could’ve gone to SeaWorld
The ocean sounds like fun
Instead we sit in the hot heat sun
And watch a game of chance

Is it a game or more a test?
Road-tired vets that have to play
Minted fresh kids who demand their say
Now, then, a years-old dance

It’s a fine, fine line they walk
For us a lazy day
A beer, a dog, just to get away
It takes work to make romance

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The Bookkeepers Talk Baseball

by Jim Daniels

Betsy says a friend of hers
went to high school with Kirk Gibson
and that he was stuck up even then.

Debbie says Frank is taking her
to one of those things
where they play two games in one day.
What’s it called, a double bubble?
She makes a face: I can hardly stand one game
much less two.

Jack, the burly security guard says
it’s too damn boring. Everybody
standing around picking their asses.

I sit at my desk
flipping through accounts, pulling overdrafts.
My ass squirms in padded comfort
longing for the bleacher’s hard bench.

Arnold says he likes it better
on tv. Why go to the ballpark,
he asks, and deal with the traffic
and the crowds?

Better on tv?
Get yer red hots heah!
Coke! Iiiiiiice Cooooold Coke!
Crack of bat on ball. Smell
of stale cigars and spilled beer.
Seventh inning stretch.
Cold beer in the sun.

Cold beer in the sun.
I bang my seat
to start up a rally.

Jim Daniels is the Thomas Stockham Baker Professor of English at Carnegie Mellon University.  His newest story collection, TRIGGER MAN: More Tales of the Motor City, is now available, and can be ordered from Amazon here.

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…and the Living is Easy

by Edmund Conti

The Sox are our team, says the Bahd,
Plus the students who haunt Hahvahd Yahd.
Just enjoy if you wish
This great summery dish.
By autumn, you know, we’ll get scrod.

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What is Baseball?

by Eddie Gold

Baseball is for all, regardless of religion or race,
And it’s the Babe blasting one into outer space.

It’s the banker sitting next to the guy without a job,
And it’s the base-stealing exploits of Tyrus R. Cobb.

It’s the vendors hawking scorecards, peanuts and ale,
And it’s Landis, the Czar, with his chin on the rail.

It’s pilots like Huggins, Mack, and Old Case,
And it’s a boner by Merkle, who skipped second base.

It’s Billy Sunday, from sinner to saint,
And it’s Willie Keeler, who hit where they ain’t.

It’s writers like Lardner, Rice and Runyon,
And its Wagner at bat, resembling Paul Bunyan,

It’s a crestfallen guy called Shoeless Joe,
And it’s the kid who pleaded, “Say it ain’t so.”

It’s opening day with the President in the park,
And it’s a homer by Hartnett, hit in the dark.

It’s nicknames like Dizzy and Dazzy, Pee Wee and Pants,
And it’s a double play by Tinker to Evers to Chance.

It’s the ornery cussing of Muggsy McGraw,
And the quiet temperance of Vernon Law.

It’s the pursuit of an asterisk by Mantle and Maris,
And it’s the Mats’ Boy Wonders, Cronin and Harris.

It’s the Giants Mathewson, who seldom would lose,
And it’s Taylor Spink and The Sporting News.

It’s the prayers for a pennant by a Brooklyn parson,
And a Series no-hitter by a guy named Larsen.

It’s the girl in the bleachers acquiring a tan,
And the hula-wiggle stance of Stan the Man.

It’s the training camps and the coming of spring,
And it’s Mr. Roberts, the first Robin of fling.

It’s the aroma of hot dogs, plain or kosher,
And it’s umpire-baiting by Leo Durocher.

It’s the blast by Thomson, with its thrills galore,
And it’s the 26-inning duel of Oeschger and Cadore.

It’s the pennant winner and the team in the cellar,
And it’s the blazing fastball of Bobby Feller.

It’s Hornsby, the Rajah, so brazen and bold,
And it’s Billy Martin, still knocking `em cold.

It’s Doubleday, Cooperstown and the Hall of Fame,
And it’s the band playing “Take Me Out To The Ball Game.”

It’s the little leaguer and the kids at stick ball,
It’s rain checks, bubblegum cards, and most of all…

It’s America. Yes, BASEBALL IS AMERICA.