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Some of What a Ticket Taker Hears

by David Eldridge

“I’m so glad to be here.” . “I want to go home.” . “I hope we win tonight.” . “Where is the closest restroom?” . “The starting pitcher for the other team is terrible.” . “Kids, stay with us.” . “I need a beer.” . “The first baseman better not make any errors tonight.” . “I can’t find my tickets.” . “I hope we see a home run.” . “I’m hot.” . “I’m cold.” . “I hope I catch a ball.” . “Please go ahead of me.” . “I need a hot dog.” . “I love you.” . “I hate you.” . “He strikes out too much.” . “Kids, stop hitting each other.” . “It looks like it could rain.” . “He can’t hit.” . “He can’t pitch.” . “I’m not giving you my cell phone.” . “I want a ball cap.” . “I hope the umps aren’t blind tonight.” . “I need a scorecard.” . “He is only hitting .230.” . “Why are we here?” . “He throws too many fastballs.” . “The ticket takers are slow.”

David is a lawyer, a fencer, and a poet.  He is also hopelessly mad about a white ball with 108 double-stitches.

 

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The Natural (1984)

by Bob McKenty

Who is this hoary rookie who excites
Fans’ hopes, who in midseason gets the call
To play for the beleaguered New York Knights,
And knocks the cover (really!) off the ball?
But obstacles present themselves, and fast:
Seductress; unjust judge; a hitting rut;
A pundit who’d expose Roy’s seamy past;
A silver bullet lodging in his gut.
Hobbes, hobbled, breaks his bat (his only one—
In splinters). Bobby “picks a winner” out.
Inspired by Iris and (surprise!) their son,
Roy hits the arc lights with his winning clout—
Anachronistic ending, for I’ll bet
Night baseball hadn’t been invented yet.

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The Lake Isle of Innisfirstbase

by Ellen Adair

With apologies to William Butler Yeats

I will arise and walk now, and walk like Bryce and Rhys;
And the outside pitches take there, with a patient-eyed approach;
Nine pitches will I foul off; then ball four below the knees;
And stand alone with the first-base coach.

 

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42

by Phillip W. Wilson

He was not
the best Negro League player
the Dodgers could have signed.
But he was the first
so he had to be better
than legendary.

Where did his calm come from
when he took the field
amidst a rain of insults
hurled like a pyroclastic flow?

How did he show the best
in men
while men showered him
with the worst?

How could he do it
one more day
let alone the next
and then the next?

Whatever it was
burned in him
with such intensity and
white hot heat that,
like Vulcan,
he forged impenetrable armor.

Baseball retired
Jackie Robinson’s 42
for all teams for all time.
The answer to life, the universe
and everything,
is it any wonder
it is the angle at which
sunlight and water
turn into rainbows?

Phillip has recently been published in Poeming Pigeon, and received an Honorable Mention in 2020 in the Oregon Poetry Association’s Contest for new poets. He lives in Beaverton, Ore., with his wife, who is also a poet.

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Baseball in Mexico City Feels Like Football in California

by Rajesh C. Oza

As comedian George Carlin famously said,

“Baseball begins in the spring, the season of new life.
Football begins in the fall, when everything’s dying …

In football you wear a helmet.
In baseball you wear a cap …

Football has hitting … and unnecessary roughness.
Baseball has the sacrifice.”

So what did the Giants and Padres sacrifice
In Mexico City’s elevation?

The beauty of a 1-0 shutout;
So many flailing arms in spent bullpens;

And a congested scorecard that seemed to replace
Baseball’s home runs with football’s touchdowns.

As the Giants’ announcer Jon Miller said repeatedly,
“¡Adiós pelota! ¡Adiós pelota! ¡Adiós pelota!”

 

Dr. Oza is a management consultant and facilitates the interpersonal dynamics of MBAs at Stanford University. His recently completed Double Play, written in Stanford’s novel-writing program, will be published in 2024 by Chicago’s Third World Press.