by Millie Bovich
Some managers spit pumpkin seeds in innings bad or fine,
Some managers come out to chat and won’t step on a line.
Some hitters crowd the batter’s box and twirl their bats on high,
Some batters take a too-close pitch and watch the beaut go by.
Some batters readjust their gloves, then readjust once more,
Then smack the whirling sphere into the parking lot next door.
Some fans will smother up their dogs, while some will eat them plain.
Some fans will watch in blazing sun, some gladly sit in rain.
Some fans will need a beer or three to quench a burning thirst.
Some runners just drink Gatorade when they slide into first.
Some pitchers work a snail’s pace and roam around the mound,
Then wind and throw a perfect strike that makes a sizzling sound.
Some unexpected umpire call will cause the fans to yell
That the authority in question should find his way to hell.
Some rookie out in center field will punch his well worn glove,
Then make a catch spectac’lar that the fans in stands will love.
Some fans will make excuses just to be there Opening Day.
It’s spring again, and time to watch the “boys of summer” play!
And the Tigers’ Ernie Harwell would begin the year the same
With a quote we’ve heard a thousand times before he starts the game.
“The Rose of Sharon blooms again”, ’cause spring is something grand,
“And the voice of the turtle will be heard in the land.”
Millie Bovich may be the oldest fan and contributor to Bardball. “I had the pleasure of meeting All-Star Johnny Pesky when he visited the Detroit office of the FBI where I worked,” she writes, “and met and married a special agent from New York and made a Tigers fan out of him!”
Published in Detroit Tigers, Fans, Food, History, Management, Players, Pure doggerel, The Game Itself, Youth | Link to this poem | 2 Comments