Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
A weatherman on Beantown TV
Described it this way:
“You start here,” a flat hand
measuring height in the air.
“This is chilly. Okay?
Then you drop it to here.
This is freezing,
Just thirty-two degrees.”
He went on: “But it gets colder,
Down here…”
He ducked below the camera eye.
“… Is zero, and it’s so cold …
You freeze fruit and it shatters.
But there’s one more level …”
He looked the camera in the eye.
“… Colder still: Red Sox hitting.”
In the wake
Of the last swing
(Or its simulacrum)
The season’s dust
Settles into memory
Fantasy and myth
In the dust
Of the last out
(Or its doppelgänger)
A season’s dreams
Run and hide
Hibernate and wait
In the spring
Of a scarred hope
(Or its trope)
One fan’s vision
Hungers for one more
Crack of that bat
Between now and then
Suspended in time
Before the first pitch
A gnawing itch
A nervous tic
Between toss and take
Throw and swing
Stand Mr. and Mrs. History
Waiting to declare
Victory or defeat
Win or loss
Destiny vs. legacy
Giants or Dodgers
Batter up, ye immortals!
Shades of Stu Miller
Candlestick wind
Rippling hope and doubt
Both Scherzer and Wood
Toe to toe
Arm to arm
Right to left
Like Ali-Frazier
Foreman-Ali
A knockout blow
Blowin’ in the wind
Scherzo sonata
Longoria’s aria
Echo of Game 162
Heroes sung and unsung
Singing alive alive oh
One to nothing
This one’s for you
Willie and the vets
Saved by Doval
Cool as a dove
Giants win
Dodgers lose
Lux chapfallen
Freeze-frame it
It’s a wrap
When you paint your masterpiece
Monsieur Gauguin Webb
We will be in Thrall
Utah or parts unknown
As well as in Awe
Wowed by the sweep
Of your slider
Biting off batter’s swings
Showing that swagger
Shades of Lincecum
And his immortal
F*ck yeah
To the world
And to the Kingdom of Doubt
Strutting off the mound
En route to Victoryland