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The Monster Eats Tonight

by Michael X. Ferraro

Been battered by Boggs and peppered by Pudge.
Dented by Dustin and jarred by A. Judge.
Pounded by Papi and tattooed by ‘Tek.
They call me the Monster, but I ain’t no Shrek.

For 89 years I’ve endured much abuse.
From a diet of line drives, my screws are all loose.
Remodeled by Ripken, mangled by Manny.
Yaz played my caroms, but then spanked my fanny.

My favorite New England season? Winter!
(That’s when I laid low from that Splendid Splinter.)
Was walloped by Winfield, rattled by Rice.
Killebrew concussed me, not once but twice.

Two decades ago, they put seats on my head!
(“Stop playing the martyr,” my therapist said.)

So tall that I fall prey to mid-section shots,
from Boomers and Deweys, to Mookies and Trots.
Some were mere scrapes, yet others… keelhaulings.
But the name I loathe most has got to be “Rawlings.”

Smirky baseballs, too big for their britches,
marking me up with horsehide and stitches.
Well, karma’s a bitch and revenge soothes the soul—
last week against KC, I swallowed one whole.

Do not shrug me off as some iconic feature;
I am a mean, green, most gluttonous creature.
Pay heed, Fenway faithful, the beast’s been unleashed.
The warning track knows that quite soon … I … SHALL … FEAST!


Michael X. Ferraro was the sports editor of Boston University’s award-winning Daily Free Press, which enabled him to ponder the Green Monster on the Fenway grass with the likes of Sam Horn, Marty Barrett, Sparky Anderson, Jim Walewander and Lee Smith. More recently, he is the author of Circus Catch, a satirical sports novel set in the golden age of American Cheating.

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A Monumental Anniversary

by James Finn Garner

In honor of the first game at the original Yankee Stadium.

A century ago, in the debuth
Of his eponymous stadium, Ruth
Hit the inaugural tater,
Auguring the later
Parade of glory under that roof.

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The Limits of Human Vision

by Greg Maddux

You just can’t do it.
Sometimes hitters can
pick up differences in spin.
They can identify pitches
if there are different
release points
or
if a curveball starts
with an upward hump
as it leaves a pitcher’s hand.
But if a pitcher can
change speeds,
every hitter is
helpless,
limited by human vision.

Except for that (expletive) Tony Gwynn.

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Do Not Hit Gently into That Ground Out

by Ellen Adair

With apologies to Dylan Thomas

Do not hit gently into that ground out,
The ball should fly, although you’re down today;
Rage, rage against losing in a rout.

Though wise men know they can’t all be Mike Trout,
Because hard contact is most productive, they
Do not hit gently into that ground out.

 

Ellen Adair is an actor, with recurring roles on shows like “The Sinner,” “Homeland,” and “Bull,” and a contributing analyst to the MLB Network show “Off Base.” Their book of poetry, Curtain Speech, is available from Pen & Anvil Press. They also host the podcasts “Take Me In to the Ballgame” and “Love Takes Action,” and draws baseball players by commission.