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Advice about Bob Gibson

by Henry Aaron

Don’t dig in against Bob Gibson, he’ll knock you down.
He’d knock down his own grandmother if she dared to challenge him.
Don’t stare at him, don’t smile at him, don’t talk to him.
He doesn’t like it.

If you happen to hit a home run,
don’t run too slow,
don’t run too fast.
If you happen to want to celebrate,
get in the tunnel first.
And if he hits you, don’t charge the mound,
because he’s a Gold Glove boxer.

I’m like, damn, what about my seventeen-game hitting streak?
That was the night it ended.

 

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Chin Music

by Dan Provost

Gibson would back you
off the plate on a bet.

Pedro had no illusions—
He just hated your guts
if you had a different color uniform.

Nolan Ryan didn’t care if
his 98 MPH fastball hit
a hip, arm, or leg.

Charge the mound for respect?

Next inning?
More chin music…

A nuanced, non-written
rule of the
National Pastime.

 

A former collegiate offensive lineman and football coach, Dan Provost’s poetry has been published in many print and online magazines. He lives in Berlin, New Hampshire with his wife, Laura, and dog, Bella.

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North Side Jekyll & Hyde

by James Finn Garner

This Cubs team elicits some frights
Swinging like scrubs, punchless some nights
Then, as if dosed,
Brute strength is exposed
Who knows which will show up tonight?

Two-Faced Treachery: Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - The American Society of Cinematographers

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The Play-by-Play’s the Thing!

by James Finn Garner

To honor the birth and death of the Bard of Avon on April 23:

His spirit having shed this mortal clay,
Consider Shakespeare doing play-by-play.

With artful language, could he break the code,
Or just “stand like a house by th’ side of th’ road”?

To hear, egads, of someone “going yard”
Might sow farming tableaux within the Bard.

A “dying quail” or “Texas Leaguer”, s’truth,
are chestnuts we might hear the playwright uthe.

The redhead like old Barber might repeat
A phrase like “sitting in the catbird’s seat.”

Shout “Holy cow!” he’d not, nor tipsy sing,
Though quaffing Falstaff would remove the sting.

Arrives the pitch both high, tight and inside,
Quoth he: “With patience do such things betide.”

Having Shakespeare on the broadcast team!
Faith, t’would be the sweetest wordsmith’s dream!

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day”
Rings brighter than, “These two teams came to play.”

To catch, though, baseball’s phantom ballyhoo,
He’d trail stout Ernie: “Let us playeth two!”