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We Cannot Know His Legendary Head (A Villanelle)

by Eric Nusbaum

We cannot know his legendary head,
We cannot know his riddle-speak, his swing,
His heart that greets no consequence, no dread.

Oblivious (or publicly misread),
He went forth like a jester, like a king.
We cannot know his legendary head.

Ramirez never anguished, never bled.
Perfection seemed a right and simple thing.
His heart? It greets no consequence, no dread.

A paradox: collective joy and dread
Awash in pride and drunk on estrogen–
We cannot know his legendary head.

A selfish man and insecure, they said.
But maybe public shame can even sting
A heart that greets no consequence, no dread.

And maybe all the jokes had turned to lead,
The time had come to leave the center ring.
We’ll never know his legendary head,
His heart that greets no consequence, no dread.

Eric writes the terrific blog Pitchers & Poets. One of his posts from P&P appears in the 2010 edition of Best American Sports Writing.

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NL West 2011 Haiku Predictions

By Stuart Shea

ARIZONA DIAMONDBACKS
With Mark Reynolds gone,
It won’t be quite as windy
this year at Chase Field

COLORADO ROCKIES
Clutch Car-Go signed,
Willy Taveras signed too–
One step up, one back.

LOS ANGELES DODGERS
An oblique signing,
Middling veteran Jon Garland–
Now an oblique strain.

SAN DIEGO PADRES
It is much tougher
To sneak up on somebody
When they know you’re there.

SAN FRANCISCO GIANTS
As full as lush peonies,
Hosting every bee and fly–
Brian Wilson’s beard.

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Three Managerial Haiku

by Gary Gillette and Stuart Shea

Sweet “like acid rain”
Lou erupts no more. Old Guard
Retreats from dugout.

Bobby “WTF?”
Cox pissing and moaning fades
Into Georgia dusk.

The Saga of Joe Torre:

Sucked in St. Lou and
Shea. Then, in fall, to the Bronx,
And now he’s a champ??

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Johnny Rosenblatt

by Todd Herges

An ode to shuttered baseball parks.  For info on Johnny Rosenblatt Stadium, please check the comments thread below.

And here’s to you, Boston’s Fenway Park,
Jesus loves you more than you will know — wo, wo, wo.
God bless you please, windy Wrigley Field,
Heaven holds a place for those who pray.
Hey, you’re all that remain.

We’d like to know a little bit about old stadia,
We’d like to help you keep some memories.
Look around you, all you see are old angelic eyes.
Strolling hallowed grounds of New York’s Polo Grounds.

And here’s to you, Jackie Robinson,
Ebbets Field saw fans who open grew — woo, woo, woo.
God bless you please, Jackie Robinson,
Brooklyn holds a place for those who played
Hey, hey, hey … hey, hey, hey.

Now so many places live where no one ever goes:
Shea, the Vet, Three Rivers and Candlestick.
It’s no shock Olympic Stadium’s no longer used.
Bigger surprise the House Ruth Built is gone now.

Coo, coo, ca-choo, all old stadia
We remember more than you will know — wo, wo, wo.
God bless you please, Houston Astrodome,
We remember Bad News Bears’ clutch play
Hey, hey, hey … hey, hey, hey.

Sitting in the bleachers on a Sunday afternoon,
Going to a big late-season day game.
Laugh about it, shout about it
When you’ve got to choose
Ev’ry way you look at it, you lose.

Where have you gone N. C. Double A
A nation turns its hungry eyes to you — woo, woo, woo.
What’s that you say, President Myles Brand?
Rosenblatt has left and gone away!
Hey, hey, hey … hey, hey, hey.

Posted 9/7/10

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Jackie

by Anonymous

He waited
In the whiteness of the afternoon sun;
Black man on green ground.
He waited
In the silence of the tongue
Black man on green ground.
He waited
In the path of his words
White broke his bones;
Black man on green ground.
He waited
As few men have ever
waited
And endured
Before a multitude
as no man before,

O,
To have conquered the white sun,
blinding
To have sailed the sun and ridden
its joy
in tears
And
in laughter.

To have ridden the white sun,
blinding
And to be
struck
struck
struck
by the rising
Of
Your
Own
Black
Sun.

Your crown was white;
…and waited.

.
Found on the Baseball Almanac site.

Posted 7/31/10