The Death of the Bleacher Bum

by Gary Gillette

From my mother’s basement I fell into the Friendly Confines,
And I hunched in its bleachers till my beer-soaked hair froze.
Six miles from first place, loosed from its dream of October,
I woke to black caps and the nightmare Sox fans.
When I puked my guts out, they washed them off the seats with a hose.

Paying homage to Randall Jarrell

Posted 5/13/08 

Published in Chicago Cubs, Chicago Cubs, Chicago White Sox, Chicago White Sox, Fans, Free Verse | Link to this poem | No Comments

Leave Your Comment

Comment Form

AL East

NL East

Extra Innings

AL Central

NL Central

Poems by Type

AL West

NL West

Heavy Hitters

Copyright 2007 Bardball.