Browse all poems and songs in the 'History' Category


#3in5

by Paul Kocak

From the late-night Belt
To the Ishikawa blast
(Leaving Matheny aghast)
From the Reverend Pence
Splat against the wall
Tongue lolling
To the champagne dance
We are LOLing
Champions together
#3in5

We might be Giants
Say Hey!
A three-ring cirque du soleil
With a dollop of brouillard
(That’s French for “fog”)
We go yard; we play hard
Olé
Cue Tony Bennett
#3in5

We’ve got Brandons galore
(Crawford, Hicks and Belt)
(And even a Dan — aaargh — Uggla)
An Angel-ic Pagán
And Morse Code tapping SOS and more!
Game-tying crash
Glove wizards Perez and Blanco
White Shark speeding, sailing, soaring
We are Champions
Hashtag World Series
Even years we adore
#3in5

We are Giants
Golden-Gated
Manhattan-transplanted
By Bums we are hated
Eight titles, calculated
Add them, elated
(Three, belated)
Call them banners or flags
Call them rings
Making our heartstrings sing
Forevermore
Demons exorcised
Passions exercised
#3in5

It is the dawning
Of the Age of J. Arias
And LOOGY Lopez too
Lincecum and Cain and Machi
Stricken Strickland
Adrianza, Susac and Sanchez, true
Don’t forget Romo of Sergio
Or long-man Petit
Nor Affeldt, rock-steady Jeremy
Or Duffy speeding homeward
And Posey, our Buster,
Batterymate anchor, aweigh
Awaiting The Hug
#3in5

We are guitar-pickin’, smart-pitchin’ Peavy
Gutsy Gutierrez, strong Vogelsong
Stoic saver Casilla
Cagey Hudson navigating age with grace
Madison Bumgarner, ace of aces
Big Country
Starter, saver, savior
Backed by The Flip
Panik to Crawford
Saving Game 7
Striking icons of history
Hoisting trophy and treasure
#3in5

Bochy the maestro
Baer and Sabean
Flannery, Kelly, Meulens
Righetti and Ron
And all the rest
Named and unnamed
We are Giants
Panda falling backward into eternity
Caught
Captured
Parading into paradise
#3in5

Paul Kocak is the author of Baseball’s Starry Night: Reliving Major League Baseball’s 2011 Wild Card Night of Shock and Awe, which Doris Kearns Goodwin called “a magical book about a magical night.” He followed this with World Serious: One San Francisco Giants Fan’s 2012 Pilgrimage. He is completing a memoir on his life as a Giants fan.



Cool Papa Bell

by William Tecku

Major league-fastball-fast is fast.
Lose-a-gal-fast-before-you-
first-take-her-out is fast.
Folk-like-me-sold-on-the-steps-
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.



Sgt. Pepper’s 2015 Forecast: “Joe Maddon, Joe Maddon!”

by James Finn Garner

For one hundred years, nothin’ but tears and “Wait til next year”
Nothing to do but hoist a few nine-dollar beers
What are the odds? Did we anger the gods?
I have one thing to say, that it’s okay:
JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON!

Epstein’s at work, trying to stock up the old farm
Call up sure things, they bring nothing, nothing but harm

.      Try to fix the park, the fanbase screams
.      Just try to find new money streams
.      Rebuild the bleachers?  They’re still torn down!
.      Cards fans and rats all over town

Not much to say ‘bout Felix Pie, another “sure bet.”
Itzuris and Guzman — what’s the use, man?  One more null set.
Calling Marmol to save’s like digging your grave
I have one thing to say, that it’s okay:
JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON!

.      But Castro, Alcantara and Baez
.      Might be as good as Epstein says
.      Jorge Soler’s a beast, and — WOW!
.      John Lester’s here? Please shoot me now!

Try to temper hope, not be a dope, but it’s getting hard
Everyone’s cryin’ to see Kris Bryant in the ballyard
Reverse the Curse? We couldn’t get worse.
There’s just one thing to say, we’ve made our play:
JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON!
JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON!
JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON!

 

 



Hope Springs a Leak Eternal

by Hilary Barta

Never weep for my Wrigley Field wishes
Though they sleep with the Stygian fishes
They were laid six feet deep
But, decayed, up they creep
And they’ll keep, just like frigging street knishes.

 



Some and Then Some

by Millie Bovich

Some managers spit pumpkin seeds in innings bad or fine,
Some managers come out to chat and won’t step on a line.

Some hitters crowd the batter’s box and twirl their bats on high,
Some batters take a too-close pitch and watch the beaut go by.

Some batters readjust their gloves, then readjust once more,
Then smack the whirling sphere into the parking lot next door.

Some fans will smother up their dogs, while some will eat them plain.
Some fans will watch in blazing sun, some gladly sit in rain.

Some fans will need a beer or three to quench a burning thirst.
Some runners just drink Gatorade when they slide into first.

Some pitchers work a snail’s pace and roam around the mound,
Then wind and throw a perfect strike that makes a sizzling sound.

Some unexpected umpire call will cause the fans to yell
That the authority in question should find his way to hell.

Some rookie out in center field will punch his well worn glove,
Then make a catch spectac’lar that the fans in stands will love.

Some fans will make excuses just to be there Opening Day.
It’s spring again, and time to watch the “boys of summer” play!

And the Tigers’ Ernie Harwell would begin the year the same
With a quote we’ve heard a thousand times before he starts the game.

“The Rose of Sharon blooms again”, ’cause spring is something grand,
“And the voice of the turtle will be heard in the land.”
.

Millie Bovich may be the oldest fan and 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!”

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