by Millie Bovich
Sometimes you wonder who’s in charge
Who makes the schedule for the sport,
Who leaves the southern ballparks dark
And schedules op’ners for “up nort”.
In early April flakes could fly–
Come to think, they often do.
What makes them think that teams could play
And still stay warm in frozen dew?
The infield’s cold, the outfield too.
The pitcher’s arm is wrapped as well.
The catcher mutters thru his cage
Baseball in April’s “cold as hell”.
The dugout heatlamps do their job,
The team enjoys its moments there,
But when the ump calls outs are three
They rise and rush to arctic air.
And how about devoted fans?
They sit and cheer in bundled clothes
And stamp their feet to make blood flow
And cup their hands to warm their nose!
The vendors’ ice cream doesn’t sell,
Not much desire for frothy beer.
Fans huddle close on tushes cold
And pull their hoodies ’round each ear.
Let’s solve the problem now for sure:
Play April ball down south or west.
I must complain and make it known
That my solution is the best.
The baseball season’s not too long.
The country just can’t wait for play.
Above the Mason Dixon line
Home openers start in balmy May.
The schedule maker is the guy
About whose skill there is some doubt.
Just call him on the carpet and
Just raise your thumb and yell “yer out!”
Millie Bovich, one of our favorite contributors, has been a Tigers fan since the days of Mickey Cochrane and Charlie Gehringer.
Four years ago, I was amazed to learn Mort Sahl is still alive and living in Mill Valley, Ca, “Over the Hill” from me in Stinson Beach. I read it in an interview in a local Marin County newspaper, the Pacific Sun, which has published my poetry.
In the interview. Mort discussed his favorite movie to promote his appearance at the Mill Valley Film Festival. Since I was even more amazed, not only at his choice, but that I had seen and hated it, I wrote him a poem c/o the Pac. Sun.
Today, when I read Millie Bovich’s, “Sometimes I Wonder,” I thought of Mort’s poem, and how both seemed to echo down the same canyon. So I added a verse, but before posting the poem, I checked if Mort was still alive after these four years.
Incredibly, he is not only still alive, tonight he is appearing in Mill Valley at his weekly-scheduled show!
“The Umbrellas of Cherbourg”
For: Mort Sahl (b: 5/11/1927; Montreal, Quebec, Canada)
and: Millie Bovich (b:?; A lady never tells. and a gentleman never asks.)
The Village Elliott: 2/3/12-4/7/16
In college I’d do what I could just to get laid,
Even see foreign movie some French fella made,
But though I sat through this long, pretentious movie,
Since I did not get laid, never thunk New Wave groovy.
Mark Twain said a banker is some groovy fella
Who, when sun is shining, lends you his umbrella,
But if shit hits the fan and new waves shvitz some gas
Like in Cherbourg, sings, “drive umbrella up your ass.”
I reckon the schedule guy’s same kind of fella,
Who don’t know his own pole from shaft of umbrella,
The kind who would think, if he just had a brain,
“No sense: schedule when forecast’s ‘cold, snow, or rain.'”