by the Village Elliott
Read poems of two teams, each known for schneid,
Longest streaks Series’ titles denied,
Longest droughts in each league,
Chi Cubs North Siders dig,
Lou “The Toe” kicked-in Indians’ pride.
Windy City’s long-time N.L. pride,
Most fans know Cubs have worst Series schneid,
‘Oh-eight year Cubs last won,
T.R. refused to run.
Cleveland’s last: post three years Cubs last tried.
‘Forty-eight: Last time Tribe had Right Stuff.
Indians, in my lifetime, all bluff.
Finished thrice A.L. first,
Series lost, fans’ dream burst.
To keep faith must be mentally tough.
Rooting for Cleveland teams makes fans frown,
Fifty years have passed by since last crown;
Town last won title game
The year “A Man I Became.”
‘Sixty-four: Browns won running Jim Brown.
Cleveland Browns quite a curious case.
Two leagues first score years, eight times win race.
Rocky, Brown, Browns leave town,
Then LeBron lets Cavs down.
Browns reborn, best, Le Bron’s back right place.
by Michael Shevick
Ever the optimist,
Ernie might have said, “The Cubs will come alive
The Cubs do look good, I say,
But I can’t forget yesterday.
Hey say, that history will re-Pete (Lacock).
The Cubs history is replete with defeat,
They are in the elite of defeat.
It was 1908 when they last won the Big Dance,
The captain of that team was the peerless Frank Chance,
Of course Tinkers and Evers were there, too,
And Ronnie Wicker was not, but he would say, “Woo Woo.”
There were many that followed, but to think about it causes me strain.
At least it was the White Sox who had a player nicknamed “Old Aches and Pains”.
Many were crummy, some were downright bad.
There was Lou Novikoff, who was just mad.
I had the displeasure of seeing Moe Thacker and Andre Rogers play,
And Boots Day, who had a short stay.
I saw the ’69 team which gave their all,
Ernie, Ronnie, Billy and Fergie all made the Hall,
Leo ran that team into the ground,
Randy the Rebel couldn’t lose another pound,
’69 should have caused me to push the button,
Still, I am a glutton.
1984 was quite a blow, Watched Sarge, Ryno and Sutcliffe put on a show,
That damn Garvey and the bircher were loathsome foes.
Still, the Pods to the series did go,
But the Tigers and Kirk Gibson sent them home with a No.
Then there was ’89, ’98 and 2003.
The result was the same.
At least in 2003, we had the fat guy to blame.
Any reaonsble person would flee,
Do you think Harry Caray would agree?
Still, I think the guys in the front office now are smarter,
They even are talking about signing a number-one starter.
Optimism about the Cubs has always been wrong,
But Soler, Bryant and Baez are better than Dale Long,
And Bub Buhl and Scott Thompson, those two get the gong.
If Steve Goodman were alive, he’d write another song.
Kevn Orie, was oh-so-sorry.
Arrieta and Hendricks looked great last season,
If they add an ace, there might be a reason–
Ok, again, I’m drinking that Cubs Kool-Aid,
In 2015, we’ve got it made.
by Celeste Johnston
In the Ultimate game the Young Titan once again
Sent a ball into the cold Midwestern night
With a swing so beautiful as to seem unreal.
And That joy once so elusive for the Orange and Black
Was once again within their grasp.
by William Tecku
Major league-fastball-fast is fast.
first-take-her-out is fast.
of-the-St. Louis-Court House-fast
is fast but none of these fasts
is fast as darn fast.
Me finished before you start
that’s darn fast, that’s me.
Slow? Slow is how long it took me to tell Clara,
while we was out walkin’ after my game today,
how I got hit with my own hit ball
after I slid safe into second.
Darn slow? That was me with her tonight, guessin’
and guessin’ all the way back from hearin’ Henry Brown
at the Blue Flame until we stepped off the sidewalk,
outside the gas lights, and slipped under the shade trees
by her flat, before I could remember her favorite hymn
and she kissed me fast, in a slow way,
that made me feel like Lucky Lindy.
Like when I’m flyin’ around the bases
or runnin’ down flys or line drives
with eyes for the center field fence
and whole the ball park is movin’
slow as Missouri catfish in winter,
I didn’t feel nothin’ under my feet
all my way home where I
turned off the light and was in bed
before my room was dark.
William Tecku is a Witter Bynner Foundation for Poetry grant recipient, a six-time Arizona English Teachers Association “Teachers As Writers” award winner, a Lake Superior Writers Series award winner, and twice received the Mesa Public Schools Staff Writing Award. It’s Only a Dry Heat is his most recent collection of poetry and fiction. For more of his writing, visit his webpage, Road Reflections.