It’s not 14 years.
Really?
Since Kid K choked the Stros?
Ah, but what’s 14 years anyway,
In a Cub fan’s memory?

A short trip to the DL
And he’d be back again
Better than ever
Ready to win
Again, again, again . . .

Then one last, sweet K
On three straight pitches
And a hug from his Justin on the dugout steps

A kid for all time
Youth ready, on tap
Hope in pinstripes

I was always a Cub, I’ve always been a Cub, and I’ll always continue to be a Cub.

What’s 14 years anyway,
In a Cub fan’s memory?

Yesterday we played, we played baseball
the pitcher pitched and I whacked the ball
it flew over Maine
and a Japanese train
it flew over a polar ice cap
it was seen by some English chaps
some soldiers saw it in Afghanistan
and as it flew it learned Uzbekistan
it flew over the Great Barrier Reef
in North Dakota it sampled some beef
but just as it landed in Moscow
the umpire called it  foul

Owen P. is a fifth-grade student in Chicago.

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!

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.

ARIZONA DIAMONDBACKS
Over(bay) the Miles,
Young men climb Upton a Hill—
This poet’s a Putz

COLORADO ROCKIES
The prime of one’s life
Ends around 40 for all
But Jamie Moyer

LOS ANGELES DODGERS
It’s a Magic time!
Millionaires swap property
And the fans go wild

SAN DIEGO PADRES
Highly paid jocks in
Military uniforms?
A bullshit salute

SAN FRANCISCO GIANTS
The Posey’s a bloom
That needs strong roots around it
Not these flimsy sticks

CHICAGO CUBS
Behold the savior!
He slouches toward Wrigleyville
And shops at J. Crew.

CINCINNATI REDS
Scott’s Rolen along
At least as much as one “rolls”
On two rusty wheels.

HOUSTON ASTROS
In a great big barn
The inhabitants will smell…
25 heifers

MILWAUKEE BREWERS
The abdication
Means the Milwaukee lineup
Will welcome the Mat.

PITTSBURGH PIRATES
Pretty park, green grass,
Lovely statue, tasty beer,
Clint Barmes at short

ST. LOUIS CARDINALS
Elders leave the grounds,
Leaving the young ones to play
The eternal game.

Connor and Josh performing their poem “Baseball” at The Cantab Lounge in Boston, Mass., at The National Poetry Slam in 2011. They were representing The Loser Slam venue from New Jersey.

Got `em got `em got `em
don`t got `em
Got `em got`em
don`t got `em

The clear flick of the cards
as I flip through Doug’s doubles
cuts thick August heat, summer, 1968
in the dusty field behind his house.

Look what I found, you guys.
His little brother Matt shows us
A magazine called Swank
wrinkled up and dirty.
Nothing like that
in our rubber-banded stacks.

We make a deal with Matt
and he flips through our doubles
Got `em got `em don`t got `em
as we silently turn the worn pages
and our mouths get dry.

Jim Daniels is the Thomas Stockham Baker Professor of English at Carnegie Mellon University, where he has taught creative writing for 30 years.

Take the bats and the balls and the batters
Add the catcalls and hall-of-fame statters
Then the scouting reports
That drown out other sports –
It’s the national pastime that matters

For the best in limericks, discerning doggerelists always insist on Hilary Barta’s poems at LimerWrecks.

Late autumn brings damp and rain;
The baseball season is over again.
The Redbirds were soaring;
Their fans were roaring.
And Texas went home empty-handed.

The holidays and new year’s come,
Bringing dreams of series rings to everyone.
The hot stoves start burning,
With free agent yearning,
And revulse at the salaries commanded.

Spring brings tulips and green grass.
Training and opening day are here at last.
Northern fans bundle for the game,
Southern weather is a lot more tame.
And all hope to catch a foul single-handed.

The late Samuel Henry Donham (a college and semi-pro first baseman whose career ended in injury, and later a junior high baseball coach) instilled a love of baseball in his family, including his daughter-in-law Becky. She is a longtime Cubs fan whose faith is wavering.