I wipe dust off a green chair and sit down and expect someone to tell me to move where my ticket says I should go Someone might ask me if I’m scouting that hitter whose hands sting when he stands…
Tag: poem
It so happened that a man didn’t like what another man said. So the first man took off his shirt and threw it on the ground. But he didn’t throw it on any pile of dirt: it was a more…
Arguing about fighting in baseball requires referencing literature that is not written down. Or discussed, beyond the mysterious language of major league clubhouses all clubhouses with different dialects that change from season to season, depending on the cultural makeup of…
I thought he’d taken three strikes, but the umpire said “Strike One!” And that was it. So Peter Bourjos walked, and sauntered off first, and dove back into the base on each throw over. He wore striped socks to his…
Why does he walk up and down a little dirt pile? He dangles his arm when he stands still. And he stares at a man in a mask 60 feet away. He might glare at another masked man, too. Perhaps…
Concerning the tiny clods of dirt layered on the cleats of shoes: Might they remain after each series, and move from place to place? There, a bit of mud from Tampa, and a piece of dirt from Kansas City. Here,…