Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
It’s no little thing
To be Orion Kerkering.
The Phillies keep on tinkering
And now will test his youthful wing
Not against org players who hit with a “ping”
But big-league hitters whose bats whistle and sing
At any imperfect offering.
Will he be Joker
Or will he be King?
It’s no little thing
To be Orion Kerkering.
On the beach in Cape May, New Jersey,
my teenage son and I begin a baseball
catch in the early evening
We are way back from the water, where the sand still retains the day’s warmth
and other beach goers have long since departed
Gulls peck at the sand looking for morsels as the surf gently breaks in its rhythmic pattern
My wife sits and watches us from a distance,
forming the unbalanced triangle that is our life
We increase the distance between our long tosses
My leather glove snaps a sharp crack as it embraces the hurling sphere
I return a well rehearsed overhand throw that has many years of practice behind it
Our long shadows lengthen as the sun slowly sets and we increase our pace, throwing with greater velocity and heightened focus
A white three-masted schooner skirts the horizon
A kite ripples in the increasing breezes high above my son’s head
The tethered string being held by a far-away girl
Puffs of white sand arise around the ankles of my son on every toss
His skinny, well tanned body and freckled nose are absorbed in the moment
Low throws hug the sand and kick up grains
that stings my shins
An older departing couple apologizes for interrupting us as they pass between my son and me, lugging their
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beach chairs, floral towels and a large white canvas bag
I silently thank them for the opportunity to rest my now tiring arm
A slight chill in the salty air denotes a change
the summer is ending,
as is my middle age as well as my son’s innocence
Ready or not, we all have a new season to embrace
When I consider every game that’s played
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
No matter where such moment is displayed,
No matter the media who comment,
And I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered or jeered under any and all skies,
Vaunt their youthful sap, only to decrease,
Eventually left with mere memories.
Try not to think of this inconstant stay
Of vigor with less than complete delight,
Though wasteful Time debateth with decay
To change your day of youth to sullied night;
Forget the war with Time we all must lose,
And make lasting your fame from today’s news.
So many new faces on the Yankee roster —
Triple A-ers getting fan attention —
And it felt like April, not September,
On a warm Friday night in Houston.
It was nice, for just a moment, to forget
Where the Pinstripe season has gone this year
And instead to relish the moment
When new faces might be the Yankee future.