“The Golden Voice of Vin Scully” by Dan Bern


Published in Los Angeles Dodgers, Songs and Parodies, video | Link to this poem | No Comments

Rick Monday

by James Finn Garner

Rick Monday
Born on Tuesday
Homered off Seaver Wednesday
Traded on Thursday
Saved the flag Friday
Broke Canada’s heart Saturday
Retired on Sunday
And that’s why people still talk about Rick Monday.

 


Published in Chicago Cubs, Former Teams, James Finn Garner, Los Angeles Dodgers, Oakland Athletics, Players, Pure doggerel | Link to this poem | 1 Comment

April 8, 1974 (Side 1, Track 1)

By Stuart Shea

It was 40 years ago today
The Bums came to ‘Lanta to play
Al Downing tried to pitch with style,
But Hank hit the ball a country mile.

.
So let me introduce to you—the righty with the mighty swing…
Henry Aaron’s record-breaking bomb !

 

The brand new edition of Stu’s book, Wrigley Field: The Long Life and Contentious Times of the Friendly Confines, is on sale now.

 


Published in Atlanta Braves, Ballparks, Fans, History, Los Angeles Dodgers, Players, Songs and Parodies, Stu Shea | Link to this poem | 1 Comment

The Game Without A Clock

by Stephen Jones

Critics of baseball always complain:
“Speed it up.  The game’s too slow. ”
Look elsewhere, they often chime,
For proof.  But to a clock-driven show?

Baseball is not the NFL,
Where starts and stops rush pellmell.

Baseball is not the NHL,
Where fights and goals are the sell.

Baseball is not the NBA,
Where endless timeouts hold the day.

Maybe more common sense could be used,
Maybe more strikes should be called . . .
These are arguments on which fans linger
Long after the day’s game is over.

Baseball, a game of numbers, is in play
In a stadium beyond time’s sway.

 


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The Origin of Baseball

by Kenneth Patchen

Someone had been walking in and out
Of the world without coming
To much decision about anything.
The sun seemed too hot most of the time.
There weren’t enough birds around
And the hills had a silly look
When he got on top of one.
The girls in heaven, however, thought
Nothing of asking to see his watch
Like you would want someone to tell
A joke–”Time,” they’d say, “what’s
That mean–time?”, laughing with the edges
Of their white mouths, like a flutter of paper
In a madhouse. And he’d stumble over
General Sherman or Elizabeth B.
Browning, muttering, “Can’t you keep
Your big wings out of the aisle?” But down
Again, there’d be millions of people without
Enough to eat and men with guns just
Standing there shooting each other.

So he wanted to throw something
And he picked up a baseball.

 

From City Lights Pocket Poets Anthology, edited by Lawrence Ferlinghetti. Copyright 1995.


Published in Free Verse, The Game Itself | Link to this poem | No Comments

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“The Golden Voice of Vin Scully” by Dan Bern

Rick Monday

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