By Stuart Shea
I beg of you,
Please don’t say that in his last nine at-bats he’s hitting .222.
Please don’t mention a two-game win streak,
Or how many homers he hit in one week
Or other meaningless stats
Like his career record in four games against the Rays,
Or his ERA on Wednesdays.
Even those of us without degrees in statistics
Can tell when “conclusions” are not realistic.
Between announcers making mountains of data molehills
And old-time players saying on-base percentage isn’t very important
Because walks clog the bases
Or being patient is wimpy
And waiting for walks erodes a hitter’s skills,
It’s enough to make you want to SCREAM
And grab the remote
And turn off Jamie Campbell, Thom Brennaman, or Rory Markas
And ponder the end of the world in darkness.
Published in Fans, Free Verse, Stu Shea, The Game Itself | Link to this poem | 2 Comments