Browse all poems and songs in the 'St. Louis Cardinals' Category


Every Sixty Years

by the Village Elliott

For Madison Bumgarner, et al.

Each Giants fan felt giant fear,
Thought, “Though year’s even,” then “Out of here!”
Mad Baum showed Jints the way,
Hit “Game’s Call of the Day”.
Reckon likely be Call of the Year.

Seems each 60 years there’s such a game:
Give up Grand Slam, hit tater same frame.
First, Hubs’ Fred Klobedanz,
Back when Babe wore short pants;
Reds’ Hal Jeffcoat, Mad Bum each same fame.

 

On August 18 in the fourth inning, Madison Bumgarner gave up a grand slam. In the bottom of the inning, he hit a two-run tater. He is the third hurler in Major League history to hit a home run after giving up grand slam in previous half-inning:

1: Boston Braves’ Fred Klobedanz vs. New York Giants (homer by George Davis), 1st/2nd, on 9/12/1896
2: Cincinnati Reds’ Hal Jeffcoat vs. St. Louis Cardinals (homer by Stan Musial), 8th, on 5/26/1957
3: San Francisco Giants’ Madison Baumgarner vs New York Mets (homer by Justin Ruggiano), 4th, on 8/18/16



Hanging the Bunting at Wrigley

by Gene Fendt

“At 8-1, the Cubs are off to their best start since 1969”
–news story, April 15, 2016

They’re hanging the bunting at Wrigley
.    a hundred years after the Babe;
so many have waited so long for this day
.     it’s hard to believe what we see.
My childhood knows Santo, Kessinger, Beckert and Banks,
.     the trade of Lou Brock, the umpire’s mistake,

facing Giants and Pirates and Hammering Hank,
.     the line-up of Bench, Morgan, Rose and Perez,
the grace of Clemente before he was dead,
.     the stare-down of Gibson, Bob Veale and Koufax’s crank:
Lou Boudreau on radio made it appear
.     as Athena to Hector, when Achilles was near.

The world is unworthy of childhood faith,
.     the utter incorrigible truth of its love,
its weeping for heroes defeated by fate,
.     its Aprils and Augusts, stolen bases, gold gloves.

All that is over. It’s daytime, there’s ivy,
.     it’s got God’s own green grass,
the bunting is hanging, and so soon you’ll see
.     God himself in his garden, all home at last.

 

Gene Fendt has taught philosophy for 29 years at the University of Nebraska, but grew up in Wisconsin listening to WGN, “radio home of millions throughout mid America.” His poetry most recently has captured the Princemere Poetry Prize (2015) and won the Gemini Magazine national poetry competition.



Upside My Head

by the Village Elliott

For Joe Garagiola (1926-2016)

In today’s paper, oh boy, I read
News that hit me right upside my head.
This one really got me,
Illustrates perfectly
That you don’t get no older than Dead.

When the Great Scorekeeper called Joe’s “Last Out”,
I thought Joe was no longer about.
Immigrant’s son made team:
“The American Dream”
His life fully lived, I’ve no doubt.

Yogi’s Dago Hill childhood friend, Joe,
First of three lost this week’s TV show:
Garry Shandling passed on–
Like Larry Sanders, gone–
Now lost light’s dimmed the White Shadow.

 



Dedicated to Dad

by the Village Elliott

For sons Edinson, Bobo and Mort

Volquez started Royals’ World Series play
After learning Dad just passed away.
Just like Cards’ Cooper knew,
And Bengals’ Bobo, too,
Back in forties; each team won that day.

———————————-

The Royals’ Edinson Volquez threw the first pitch of the 2015 Series yesterday, having learned on the way to the park that his father had died earlier that day. He pitched six innings with no decision, though his team won in the 14th.

In the 1940 World Series, Detroit Tiger Bobo Newsom shut out the Reds in Game 1 with his father in attendance. After the game, his father died. He dedicated his victorious Game Five start to his dad. Asked to also win Game Seven for his Old Man, he replied, “I think I’ll win this one for Old Bobo,” but lost 2-1.

Three years later, the Cardinals’ Mort Cooper learned his father died a few hours before his Game Two start against the Yankees. Pitching to his brother Walker, he won the Cards’ only game in the 1943 World Series.

 



What a Season — And It Ain’t Over Yet

by James Finn Garner

So now, my friends, it has come to this,
The World Series of 2015
The kids ablaze on the New York Amazin’s
Versus the Big Blue Royal Machine.

Let’s consider all that’s gone before
As we bid the warm weather goodbye
Some teams did roll as had been foretold
While others came through with surprise.

The new Cubbie kids swung some mean bats
The Blue Jays refused to show fear
Motown fell dead, now needs a retread
While the Giants await an even year.

The Dodgers in their close-ups again blinked
Staid St. Louis became hot and unglued
The Nationals sputtered, then throttled each other
The Lone Star State watched a marvelous feud

So when someone tells you baseball is boring,
Whether online, at work, in a bar,
Don’t chuckle or sigh. Look them straight in the eye
And say, “Baseball’s not boring — you are.”

 

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Copyright 2007 Bardball.