by Sara Davis Buechner
by Ember Nickel
To the tune of “Slide, Kelly, Slide”
I played a game of baseball down at old Chavez Ravine
The crowd was intermittent, and the heat was fierce and keen
A nobler lot of people there might have chanced to play
But you would never hear that said from teammates in L.A.
The game was quickly started while I sat on the bench
Waiting for Mattingly to call upon a would-be mensch.
Hernandez drew a walk and then it was my turn to bat,
Eked out a quiet single and there was no need to spat.
Slide, Utley, slide! The fray will never end
Slide, Utley, slide! Your havoc they’ll suspend
If your blows are just too crushing, and you aren’t duly blushing
They won’t take you to Flushing! Slide, Utley, slide!
Twas in the seventh inning they called me in, you’ll find
But once I got to first, moving along was on my mind.
But something was the matter, sure I couldn’t see the ball
But my slide into the base broke down Tejada’s leg and all
I was running down the baseline, I figured that he tripped
For when I tumbled into him, he got severely flipped.
‘Twas a most unpleasant feeling, though at first they called me out;
We both were rattled, and that’s when the fans began to shout;
They overturned the play so to the base I got to go
The way they took Tejada out, it must have been a show.
On Gonzalez then depended the victory or defeat,
And he came through to show the world that we would not be beat.
Five to two was the score of the game when we got done,
But when I got suspended I thought that was much less fun.
The news got home ahead of me, they said I couldn’t play;
The fans told me that I should sue, and then began to say . . .
by Jim Siergey
Watch him put away
Watch him put away the Bucs
Like a bunch of sitting ducks
Put away! S’il vous plait!
Put those Bucs away!
by Paul Kocak
With apologies to Emily Dickinson
“Hope” is the thing with pennants –
That perches on the heart –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – till done –
And sweetest – in the Yard – is heard –
And sore must be the arm –
The tiny splash of one ball’s arc
Scribing wingèd Victory –
I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the foggiest Cove –
That – never – in Eternity,
Did three-ringed Giants swoon – nor fold.
Paul Kocak is the author of Baseball’s Starry Night: Reliving Major League Baseball’s 2011 Wild Card Night of Shock and Awe, which Doris Kearns Goodwin called “a magical book about a magical night.” He followed this with World Serious: One San Francisco Giants Fan’s 2012 Pilgrimage. He is completing a memoir on his life as a Giants fan.
by Michael Higgins
With apologies to William Carlos Williams
so much depends
a Belt at
frozen by heat