by Patrick McCaughey
He was asked what he did in winter,
And he answered. But here’s the thing.
You know what I’m doing this summer?
I stare out the window and wait for spring.
None — Niente — Nada
by Millie Bovich
No bats, no balls, no umpire calls.
No runs, no hits, no Bud or Schlitz.
No fans, no stands, no bleacher tans.
No cheers, no jeers, no loser tears.
No drinks, no jinks, no fun, methinks.
No flies, no ties, no alibis.
No lights, no fights, no family nights.
No slides, no chides, no rule abides.
No shouts, no pouts, no fly ball outs.
No fuss, no muss, no catch the bus.
No time to stretch, no shoestring catch, no drink to fetch.
No batter up, no spill the cup, no boos erupt.
No hit to first, no quench my thirst, no rainstorm burst.
No dusty slide, no two collide, no place to hide.
No pitch too low, no triple blow, no place to go.
No organ sounds, no pitchers’ mounds, no homer rounds.
No op’ning day, no play-by-play, just “What the hey?”
No talks on tap, we sit and flap, who takes the rap?
No catcher cues, baseball we choose, fans sing the blues.
No season start, that isn’t smart, it breaks my heart!
Charley Radbourn
by Michael Ceraolo
I loved base ball even if it wasn’t respectable,
and after the season I had in ’84
I earned both money and respect
I loved Carrie even though society said
she was a woman who didn’t deserve love:
her first husband, she, and I
all died of the same social disease;
who contracted it first and passed it on
is unknowable now, and doesn’t matter
You love who and what you love,
and I loved and still love
base ball and Carrie, without apology
When Mick Got Sick
by Hilary Barta
Engaged in a liquored-up tryst
The slugger soon started to list
And onto the chick
Ol’ Mickey got sick
Cried Angie, “I’d rather we kissed!”
Dock Ellis & the LSD No-No
Produced by No Mas, Animated by James Blagdon