Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
A mass of numbers —Â that’s baseball.
Now, however, stats of memory (and tradition)
Are being supplanted . . . by accounting firms who
Leverage numbers for metric analysis.
You sing: Where have all the baseball cards gone?
The answer is: Welcome to the data crunch.
It isn’t enough, anymore, to say so-and-so hit two-forty.
Calipers now have been applied —Â it’s a
Surgery of analytics, to build a better bionic team.
It’s Tebow Mania
In South Carolina:
The media frenzy,
Demand for his jersey . . .
Not since Michael Jordan
Has there been such stardom.
But after one Class A homer,
Is Tim Tebow the savior
Of all minor league players
Who dream big, of the majors?
It may sound so corny,
But his answer may be:
A big heart
Is a mighty big coach.
Baseball’s going through a tidal surge.
It’s not some drug-related purge
Or hair-split tweaks speeding up the game
Or (gasp) Pete Rose in the Hall of Fame.
It’s a force of nature
On the field of dreams:
Youth’s replaced stature
On many a team.
You’ve had all winter to think about it:
Those round words — play ball.
You even snugged them in the hollow of your glove.
All winter, they gave it — and you — shape.
Now the waiting’s done, the doors are open,
And cleats grate on locker room floors.
Spring training, and the game, unfolding,
You share space with expectation and hope.
Doesn’t matter which team you like —
Pitchers and catchers start this week.
“This year it’ll be different,” you avow . . .
Based on what you don’t know right now.
No matter — speculation and hope abound,
And never touch winter’s frozen ground,
And while right now it might be cold and gray,
Dreams float like clouds on a summer day.