April is National Poetry Month, which I think was established so former English majors may continue to delude themselves that their degree was practical. To that end, here is a 2013 season preview in verse. My apologies to William Carlos Williams, W.S. Gilbert, and Emily Dickinson.
The Red-Hatted Manager
So much depends
glazed with free
beside the dugout
I Am the Very Model of a Modern Clubhouse Veteran
I am the very model of a Modern Clubhouse Veteran,
I share my knowledge with the rookies and my baseball bretheren
I’ve been a pro for many years and quote the games historical,
My post-season experience is more than just rhetorical;
In the field, I’m average, it matters not a whit to me
I’m here to hit and demonstrate my offensive consistency
They call me cheerful and upbeat, I guess I’m really not sedate
But I can teach the younger guys on showing patience at the plate
I’ll make the clubhouse warm and fuzzy so the team can rock the Jake
That’s why I had them dress like fools and made them do the Harlem Shake
In short so Tito doesn’t have to take so much Excederin
I am the very model of a Modern Clubhouse Veteran
If You Were Playing in the Fall
If you were playing in the fall,
I’d brush the strikeouts by
With half a smile and half a spum,
As housewives do a fly.
If you would play into October
I’d wind the strikes and balls,
And put them each in separate drawers,
Until their time befalls.
So many losing seasons gone,
I’d count them on my hand,
Subtracting till my fingers dropped
Into Van Diemen’s land.
If certain, when this year was out,
In the playoffs you would be
I’d toss my doubts out like a rind,
And taste eternity.
But now, all ignorant of the length
Of the game’s uncertain wing,
It goads me, like the goblin bee,
That will not state its sting.