By Stu Shea
The possibility of spring,
The pristine arm
Has ‘em on a string,
With no elbow damage
And no harm
The Mets’ good luck charm
The golden child,
Good fastball, good poise
And not wild.
Lots of noise
From da NYC,
They’re never mild
When they’ve got a live one
Who hasn’t yet even begun.
by Doug Fahrendorff
Rickey and Robinson
Attacking baseball’s racial barriers
Equanimity difficult to maintain
In the face of vitriol
Fans and other players
For Willie, Hank
Baseball showing the way
For human rights
By Stuart Shea
Shrouded in soft gauzy myth
angry when necessary,
beatific when possible,
surrounded by angels and devils,
Making Jackie a figure,
instead of a person,
means we don’t have to deal with
what he dealt with.
We can celebrate his triumph,
which by our celebrating it becomes OUR triumph.
Oh, how good we are.
by Stephen Jones
At 43 he’s ageless . . .
maybe better than he was.
He finished this April as always –
efficiently closing the door.
(In April his pinpoint cutter
made him reach ten for ten.)
He says this is the last year
he’ll be a Yankee closer.
(And how many lefties are relieved
he’s hanging up the buzz saw
which left their bats in splinters?)
One wants him to go on forever –
that’s the lore of baseball –
and he does, The Pinstripe Closer
who never once showed fear.
by Stephen Jones
What a sport, where marathoners run
for the sake of running, where fans and
well-wishers stand and wait for hours
and cheer – often without regard for favorites.
Then the unspeakable happened in Boston,
and even more sacrifice and heart unfurled -
this time in the midst of devastation and
tragedy. I watched in disbelief, staring at
the unblinking television, at the play-by-play
news coverage and thought: “They run for joy,
with unbent spirit. Now they run to each other.
No teams – just pure, shared, giving humanity.”
I am a Yankee fan – have been since a child -
but on April 15, 2013, I rooted for Boston.