A Ballad of Baseball Burdens

by Franklin Pierce Adams

The burden of hard hitting. Slug away
.    Like Honus Wagner or like Tyrus Cobb.
Else fandom shouteth: “Who said you could play?
.    Back to the jasper league, you minor slob!”
.    Swat, hit, connect, line out, get on the job.
Else you shall feel the brunt of fandom’s ire
.   Biff, bang it, clout it, hit it on the knob—
This is the end of every fan’s desire.

The burden of good pitching. Curved or straight.
.   Or in or out, or haply up or down,
To puzzle him that standeth by the plate,
.   To lessen, so to speak, his bat-renoun:
.   Like Christy Mathewson or Miner Brown,
So pitch that every man can but admire
.   And offer you the freedom of the town—
This is the end of every fan’s desire.

The burden of loud cheering. O the sounds!
.   The tumult and the shouting from the throats
Of forty thousand at the Polo Grounds
.   Sitting, ay, standing sans their hats and coats.
.   A mighty cheer that possibly denotes
That Cub or Pirate fat is in the fire;
.   Or, as H. James would say, We’ve got their goats—
This is the end of every fan’s desire.

The burden of a pennant. O the hope,
.   The tenuous hope, the hope that’s half a fear,
The lengthy season and the boundless dope,
.   And the bromidic; “Wait until next year.”
.   O dread disgrace of trailing in the rear,
O Piece of Bunting, flying high and higher
.   That next October it shall flutter here:
This is the end of every fan’s desire.

ENVOY

Ah, Fans, let not the Quarry but the Chase
.   Be that to which most fondly we aspire!
For us not Stake, but Game; not Goal, but Race—
.   THIS is the end of every fan’s desire.

 

Franklin Pierce Adams was a columnist and prolific doggerelist, best known for “Baseball’s Sad Lexicon (Tinker to Evers to Chance)”. This poem is from his book In Other Words (1912).

 

The Yankees – Losing, Looking Forward (After Joe Girardi’s Press Conerence)

by Stephen Jones

No doubt the nosebleed naysayers will gloat.
Now its their time to swing a bat and root:
If The Yankees lose, well . . . Ha! Let ’em rot!
Good! They can pay for their present lot.

No tears, no doubt. And much will be made
in the media, of what is done and said
by management – now that suddenly
it became the offseason so dismally.

Father Time is at bat in New York City.
So too is the present-future legacy,
a long-term chain like Jacob Marley’s,
of older players, contracts and money

still in place. Who will go? And who will stay?
Rebuild or regroup? It is hard to say.
Right now this sudden baseball closure
has some wondering about the future.

Is it a quip a la the Marx Brothers:
See you in the future – or the pasture?

Team Dog

By Barbara Gregorich

Jack and Larry leave Canada
for Cleveland, where Larry inhales
the scent of every player,
.     twitching his tail and planting
.     his paws on each
.          of them.

Jack shows his teammates
each new trick Larry
.     has learned —
.     jumping as high as Jack’s shoulder,
.          sitting on Jack’s shoulders,
.          balancing on Jack’s head.

On the wooden platform,
waiting for the southbound train,
.          the Naps take turns
.          playing with Larry.

Jack makes sure
each player knows that Larry
.     is not just Jack’s dog,
.          he is the team’s dog, too —
.          the official mascot
.     of the Cleveland Naps.

Jack reminds them that they
are all proud of Larry and of
.          themselves, and he hints
.          that maybe they should study
.     how Larry behaves.

Boarding the train,
Jack flexes his arm
.     and stretches his shoulder,
.     heading for the aches
.            of spring training

.     and the hope
.     that his arm has healed.

 

Taken from Barbara’s new book, Jack and Larry: Jack Graney and Larry, the Cleveland Baseball Dog. You can get a copy of this story of the only live mascot ever held by a major league team by visiting Barbara’s website or watching for her at this week’s SABR convention in Minneapolis.

 

The Ballad of Scott Podsednik (Sung to “I’m Movin’ On”)

By Joyce Heiser

Came out of high school, stayed in Texas awhile
Seems he just couldn’t make it all seem worthwhile
He’s movin’ on. He’s movin’ on.
Rangers said “So long son, go enjoy the sun”
He’s Marlin gone.

Minor leagues kept trading, kept cutting him loose
Never was the engine, just a little caboose
Seven years rolled on, they just moved on.
Finally majored a run in 2000 and 1
Would they keep him on?

Another year came and another deal too,
Milwaukee got him in 2002,
He still moved on, he was there and gone.
Led the league in base steals, tried to keep it real,
But they moved him on.

Chicago was home for a few good years
Got a World Series ring, a girl with bunny ears,
He’s carryin’ on, maybe he’ll stay on.
But another year came, and another ball game,
He packed and was gone.

Up in the mountains, till 2009,
Back to bat that year in the White Sox line,
Another movin’ on, another hometown gone.
Even though he had fans, Chicago had other plans
And they let him move on.

One year with the Royals, still stealing some base,
Let him go to the Dodgers, problems slowing his pace.
Trouble movin’ on, released and on his own.
Try up North, play the West, half-a-year at best
So he’s movin’ on.

Finally landed in Philly, more like Lackawanna
Scranton doesn’t really sound like baseball nirvana.
Will he be movin’ on?  Sing that travelin’ song?
Thirteen teams, eighteen years, Hard to change your gears
And keep movin’ on.

 

A Retrospective: The Wind-Up, and Watch

by Bruce Daniels

Baseball’s Hall of Fame hails a time-honored game,
That cannot be settled by clock.
Inning after inning, no team is winning,
I’d opt not to buy tickets or stock.

If one is so clever, a game can last forever,
A tie score all knotted at zip.
Ruth started the line-up, need new hitters to sign up,
Like Bonds who can make a round trip.

But we may never survive to see a line drive,
For me the game just drives me bonkers.
Be it Brooklyn or Yanks, if you ask me, “No thanks!”
The Bronx just bombed out, on to Yonkers!

This time-worn tradition should be sent to perdition,
The outcome has outlasted my strength.
Would there be sudden death? Please don’t hold your breath,
This game of ages is just so by its length!