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Them Versus Dem

by Sid Yiddish
Well, the Sox fans hate the Cubs fans,
And the Cubs fans hate the Sox fans,
Yet, both teams are doing so very well.
So why, why do the fans give each other hell?
It couldn’t be a Northside versus Southside stigma, now could it?

Still, let’s get one thing straight:
There are vital differences between them,

And it all boils down to this…

White collar versus blue collar,
Upper management versus the union,
Family versus The Family,
Particular versus pride,
The SUV versus the family van,
Pencil-neck versus redneck,
The prize trophy wife versus the missus,
The hunks versus the hits,
The stunts versus the stats,
The goat versus the gut.

But it’s the Sox fans who can take the heat, versus the Cub fans who will try to sell you the entire kitchen.

Posted 8/11/08 

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Your Baseball Days

By Stuart Shea

When was the last time you ran barefoot in the grass?
When was the last time you even threw a baseball?

Roll your fingers over the seams.
Try a fingertip knuckleball.
Pound your glove.

Think of your baseball days, before OPS and Direct TV
When you’d play all day until the sun went down
And even then you’d switch to ‘running bases,’ tossing the ball under the misty summer lamplight.
While other kids ran
And millions of bugs headed toward the bright.
And when everyone goes in for the night,
See if the Cubs game is still on.

They’re in Pittsburgh, blowing another lead in the ninth.
Jack Brickhouse is moaning. The bullpen crumbles.
And when it’s all over, and you’re exhausted with frustration
At Dave LaRoche and Oscar Zamora,
You realize there’s another game tomorrow, both for you and the big boys.

You knew NOTHING of the world at 12. But you knew baseball, and that’s what counted.
The game was an escape, a separate world with its own set of rules, a prism through which to look at your existence.
Organized rules, hope, glory, sunshine, and action.
Nothing like your own, seemingly arbitrary, life.
Which is why you needed it.

You’ll always need it to bring you back to joy, to freedom, to your own self.
For that skinny 12-year-old just begging for acceptance, begging to just be good enough at something.
And the game gave you hope.
So turn off the TV, the computer, the instant updates on your device
And play catch.
Just play catch.

It’s nice.

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Going Out A Winner

by Sid Yiddish
They send me to the showers early
Because I’m not good enough.
Sit me down on the bench and give me a good scolding.
I feel as if my future is folding, but I don’t mind, because I feel as I’ve worked harder at playing the game than anyone who’s ever played in my position.
Still, they tell me it’s not enough.
I still miss fly-balls and occasional grounders, too.
They tell me my throwing arm isn’t what it used to be, when firing from centerfield to tag the runner out at home and it’s not that I’m tired or old or have a reoccurring injury.
It’s just that I’m tired of the abuse that’s heaped on top of me, game after game after game by managers and coaches who read the playbooks all wrong and the owners that only want runs and hits and for the fans to keep on packing the place.
Perhaps this is the last inning for me.
Perhaps it’s time to retire, but it won’t matter.
I’ll still go out a winner.

Posted 7/24/08 

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When Color Meant Color

by Sid Yiddish

Listening to the Cubs-Padres game on the radio the other night, I fell asleep in the midst of the fourth.
It happens a lot to me,
But I’m not sure why.
Perhaps it’s the broadcast itself that seems to have a shelf-life of three innings before it goes stale.

Oh man…take me back to the days of the radio broadcast team of Vince Lloyd and Lou Boudreau And good old TV announcer Mr. “Back-Back-Back Hey-Hey” Jack Brickhouse in the latter half of the sixth
And “Drunk-As-Punk” Harry Caray near the end of the eighth.

That is, when color meant color.

And insults were good
And if a name was incorrectly mispronounced, no apologies were forthright or swift
And mistakes in commercials meant laughter and fun
And broadcasters just did their jobs with intelligence
And baseball games were just good old-fashioned baseball games you tuned into on your AM transistor mid-afternoon or late at night
And there was no such thing as
Political correctness.

Posted 6/6/08 

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BITING

By Stuart Shea

Florida is on the map–the Marlins are hot!
You want a Cinderella story? This we’ve got!

A star in the making with an Uggly name,
A third baseman with a Can-tu approach,
A left fielder Willing-ham to work, and
A superstar shortstop beyond reproach.

VandenHurk didn’t work and
Taylor has Tankersleyed.
But Miller’s ground opponents up,
Kevin Gregg has been the top.
And there’s no bad hops–just Badenhop.

They cannot last, these wriggling Fish,
Swimming in deep water with Phils, Braves, and Mets,
But it’s fun while it lasts, yo,
To see the big boys controlled
By Olson, Treanor, and Nolasco,
And Luis Gonzalez, who is 90 years old.