by Jim Siergey
“Opening Day” by Dan Bern
Lefty Righty
Fiction by Jim Siergey
A young pitcher’s career is shaped by politics and zoology….
Baseball season is upon us and I find my thoughts drifting back to a forgotten ballplayer from the 1970s.
I don’t recall his name. It was Daltry or Daugherty or Delancey — something like that. But I do remember his nickname.
It was Dart.
He was a pitcher, and the epithet was hung on him because he threw so hard that the ball flew by the batter like a dart, nestling in the bull’s-eye of the catcher’s mitt.
Dart was one of those rocket-armed phenoms, signed out of high school and on the mound for his major league debut before he was 19 years of age. An auspicious debut it was, because he threw a one-hit shutout. It was a great beginning for what many baseball insiders predicted would be a Hall of Fame career.
Unfortunately, his sudden notoriety also piqued the interest of the Draft Board.
The Vietnam War was still going on, and Dart had wanted no part of it. When he received his induction papers into the United States Army, he simply ignored them.
When the authorities finally came sniffing around for him, Dart hightailed it to Canada. He officially became a “draft dodger.”
Despite his ignominious retreat, the kid was so talented that it was hard for at least one major league owner to ignore it. He wasn’t in Canada very long before he was signed by the Montreal Expos and added to the roster.
Wait ‘Til This Year
by Donald G. Evans
No fans in the Wrigley stands,
Okay, let’s start there.
The Comcast deal didn’t land,
That hardly seems fair.
Hottovy got the virus,
Something there to learn.
A pandemic has no bias,
Next could be your turn.
We knew it would happen,
Jose went down: swish!
Not from a cough or a sneeze,
Just cleaning a dish.
Looking at the South Bend Fort,
Ross said, “Next Man Up!”
Strumpf, Hill, Hughes, Palma, King, Mort…
“Who are these mere pups?”
Testing is slow and spotty,
You do have to wait.
Maybe this is all just me,
None of this seems great.
Forget about high-fiving,
Please, please do not spit.
This disease, it is thriving,
Could be in your mitt.
When married with some children,
You sure do miss home.
When young and rich and single,
You just want to roam.
Opening Day: Yes!
We’ve all waited long enough.
Just take your best guess.
About the rest of this stuff.
Red Line rides, no sir!
Long lines, no need to worry.
Good-bye ballpark franks,
Swap in take-out curry.
Seems like only yesterday,
A buck got you in.
Even little ones could pay,
Small price for a win.
I’ve been sheltering months now,
On my couch do I lie.
Some baseball–Hey, Holy Cow!
Just try not to die.
Donald G. Evans is the founding executive director of the Chicago Literary Hall of Fame.
Baseball Cards
by Jim Daniels
One
of the 10,342 baseball cards in my parents’ attic
sneezes in the dampness, remembers
sweaty hands.
He calls to me across hundreds of miles:
Remember me, Jake Wood, 1964, 2nd base, Detroit Tigers,
Series 2, No. 272?
He wants to stretch his legs, climb out
from between Wilbur Wood and the 4th Series Checklist
wants to outsail all the other cards
in a game of farthies, float down
on Jose Tartabull in a game of tops.
He wants to smell like fresh from the pack
wants to be perfumed again
with the pink smell of bubble gum.
Jim Daniels is the Thomas Stockham Baker University Professor of English at Carnegie Mellon University. Copyright by Jim Daniels.