Brand New Allegory
by Sid Yiddish
.
In November,
When trees become slender
Why is baseball still being played?
We’ve strayed into dangerous territory
A brand new allegory
That sadly cannot be fixed
What we learn,
When there is money to burn
Is not much, to say the least
Just as long as there are hops and yeast added to the mix
A few more tickets to sell
And a couple of hotdogs too
The game could be played well into December,
A month when we traditionally feel the warmth of glowing embers,
But the idea of frostbitten toes and fingers just makes no sense!
I mean, can you imagine Chicago’s Carlos Zambrano in a big gray parka, scarf over mouth while pitching an ice ball straight over the plate, while St Louis’ Mark DeRosa is shivering and shuffles his feet just to keep warm and knocks the ice ball right into the stands, causing fans to slip on ice patches and scuffle over an ice ball, thereby giving frostbite and twisted ankles to several fans in sub-zero temperatures, while both bullpens are warming up with giant bonfires made from Louisville Sluggers?
Well, I can.
But I don’t want to.
And this is why baseball should not go beyond mid-October.
For on Christmas Day, I don’t want some guy say, “Can’t wait for the annual New Year’s Major League Snowball Bash.”
.
Posted 11/9/2009
On a Possible Rockies-Cardinals Playoff
By Stuart Shea
Rocks usually roll downhill.
These Rockies aren’t just landfill.
Left for dead in early May,
They’re in the playoff hunt today.
Playing halfway up the sky,
The Rockies feel a mile high.
The Cards may be their October foe,
Which ought to make a lovely show.
They’ll face a guy they used to pay–
That hitting star, Matt Holliday.
With Denver smog vs. St. Louis heat,
The Coors and Bud should flow quite sweet.
.
Posted 9/22/2009
Baseball Cards
by Dan Quisenberry (KC Royals, 1979-1988)
.
that first baseball card I saw myself
in a triage of rookies
atop the bodies
that made the hill
we played king of
I am the older one
the one on the right
game-face sincere
long red hair unkempt
a symbol of the ’70s
somehow a sign of manhood
you don’t see
how my knees shook on my debut
or my desperation to make it
the second one I look boyish with a gap-toothed smile
the smile of a guy who has it his way
expects it
I rode the wave’s crest
of pennant and trophies
I sat relaxed with one thought
“I can do this”
you don’t see
me stay up till two
reining in nerves
or post-game hands that shook involuntarily
glory years catch action shots
arm whips and body contortions
a human catapult
the backs of those cards
cite numbers
that tell stories of saves, wins, flags, records
handshakes, butt slaps, celebration mobs
you can’t see
the cost of winning
lines on my forehead under the hat
trench line between my eyes
you don’t see my wife, daughter and son
left behind
the last few cards
I do not smile
I grim-face the camera
tight lipped
no more forced poses to win fans
eyes squint
scanning distance
crow’s-feet turn into eagle’s claws
you don’t see
the quiver in my heart
knowledge that it is over
just playing out the end
I look back
at who I thought I was
or used to be
now, trying to be funny
I tell folks
I used to be famous
I used to be good
they say
we thought you were bigger
I say
I was
.
Published 9/2/2009
