5 weeks & 3 dismissed jurors later

(jurors having fallen asleep
during counsel’s endless
seemingly pointless examination
& then by law let go)

this trial has exceeded boredom
is now treading in dysfunctional limbo
& has left a bitter taste:

day-by-day less truth is being
oberved/served & one could wish
somebody would call off the whole
thing on account “of legal rain”

From the YouTube poster: “Gospel singer from the 50′s that switched to R&B music but never received the recognition she deserved on earth. She wrote this song and another popular song entitled, “Operator”.”  You can find out more about her on Wikipedia.

One hundred and four, nothing yet
One hundred and four, not a threat
All those years, win or lose
Always cheers, never boos
One hundred and four of regret

Hilary Barta was recently interviewed by the Chicago Tribune about the upcoming Roy Lichtenstein exhibition at the Art Institute of Chicago.  They didn’t mention his Cub fandom, but it’s obviously there between the lines.

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.

Taking Higher Ground

by Michael X. Ferraro

Chris Davis’s 0-fer-8 night ended in bliss.
Five times did the DH swing-swing-swing and miss.
So, post-platinum sombrero, why the big grin?
‘Cause he tossed two scoreless and picked up the win.

………………………………………………………………………………..

The Ballad of Chris Davis

by Stu Shea

How does a player go 0-for-8
And still win himself the game ball?
Move from DH to the pitching mound
And make major-league hitters look small.

A Brave young slugger,
A two-time VP,
A five-time Gold Glover
Who wore number 3.

A role-model teammate
Without ego or rage,
A clean-living player
In a steroid age.

Two home runs short
Of a trip to the Hall,
His legacy waits
To fly over the wall.

Charles Ghigna (Father Goose) is a poet, children’s author, speaker and nationally syndicated feature writer. He has written more than 60 award-winning books of poetry and been reprinted extensively, even in the ACT and SAT tests.

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!

Say “Hi” to “The Kid”

who never missed a beat/bat
of enthusiasm & protocol

even when his locker room
teammates were elsewhere

who believed baseball is a game
not of dollars & nonsense

who never cursed ‘cept once
in Game 6 the ’86 World Series

when on first base he swore
“I will not lose this damn game”

heart owning the whole thing
& who maintained a standard

beyond “behind home plate”
& something we could all learn from

Jamie Moyer, long of tooth,
Nabs a win at 49.
Never pitched to ol’ Babe Ruth
But babysat him one time.

Michael X. Ferraro is a TV writer/producer and author of Numbelievable: The Dramatic Stories Behind the Most Memorable Numbers in Sports History and Tased & Amused: The Shocking Poetic Recap of the 2010 Baseball Season.

The Northwest, known for its lumber,
Was at a loss to figure Phil Humber
Who deftly dialed the M’s number
In shadows, sun and penumber.
Could Starbucks have ended their slumber?
No matter, their bats were encumbered
In a masterpiece, shaded in umber,
The perfecto for new ace, Phil Humber