Like all sports, baseball is maximizing its profits by extending its season to ridiculously unpleasant lengths. No sport is a ludicrous as hockey, of course, but baseball should start in the middle of April, if you ask me.
My favorite American poet (of the 20th century?) is Marianne Moore. Miss Moore was born in and raised in Brooklyn, then moved to Manhattan. She was an avid baseball fan and wrote this piece in honor of the American pastime.
Baseball And Writing
Suggested by post-game broadcasts.
- You can never tell with either
- how it will go
- or what you will do;
- generating excitement --
- a fever in the victim --
- pitcher, catcher, fielder, batter.
- Victim in what category?
- Owlman watching from the press box?
- To whom does it apply?
- Who is excited? Might it be I?
Fanaticism? No. Writing is exciting
and baseball is like writing.
- It's a pitcher's battle all the way -- a duel --
- puma paw, Elston Howard lumbers lightly
- back to plate, (His spring
- de-winged a bat swing.)
- They have that killer instinct;
- yet Elston -- whose catching
- arm has hurt them all with the bat --
- when questioned, says unenviously,
- "I'm very satisfied. We won."
- Shorn of the batting crown, says, "We";
- robbed by a technicality.
a catcher's, as, with cruel
- When three players on a side play three positions
- the massive run need not be everything.
- "Going, going . . . " Is
- it? Roger Maris
- has it, running fast. You will
- never see a finer catch. Well . . .
- "Mickey, leaping like the devil" -- why
- gild it, although deer sounds better --
- snares what was speeding towards its treetop nest,
- one-handing the souvenir-to-be
- meant to be caught by you or me.
and modify conditions,
- Assign Yogi Berra to Cape Canaveral;
- He is no feather. "Strike! . . . Strike two!"
- Fouled back. A blur.
- It's gone. You would infer
- That the bat had eyes.
- Praised, Skowron says, "Thanks, Mel.
- I think I helped a little bit."
- All business, each, and modesty.
- Blanchard, Richardson, Kubek, Boyer.
- In that galaxy of nine, say which
- won the pennant? Each. It was he.
he could handle any missile.
- He put the wood to that one.
- Those two magnificent saves from the knee -- throws
- like Whitey's three kinds of pitch and pre-
- with pick-off psychosis.
- Pitching is a large subject.
- Your arm, too true at first, can learn to
- catch the corners -- even trouble
- Mickey Mantle. ("Grazed a Yankee!
- My baby pitcher, Montejo!"
- With some pedagogy,
- you'll be tough, premature prodigy.)
by Boyer, finesses in twos --
- They crowd him and curve him and aim for the knees. Trying
- "I can stand here, bat held steady."
- One may suit him;
- none has hit him.
- Imponderables smite him.
- Muscle kinks, infections, spike wounds
- require food, rest, respite from ruffians. (Drat it!
- Celebrity costs privacy!)
- Cow's milk, "tiger's milk," soy milk, carrot juice,
- brewer's yeast (high potency) --
- concentrates presage victory
indeed! The secret implying:
- sped by Luis Arroyo, Hector Lopez --
- it's work; I want you to bear down,
- but enjoy it
- while you're doing it."
- Mr. Houk and Mr. Sain,
- if you have a rummage sale,
- don't sell Roland Sheldon or Tom Tresh
- Studded with stars in belt and crown,
- the Stadium is an adastrium.
- O flashing Orion,
- your stars are muscled like the lion.
deadly in a pinch. And "Yes,
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