I never caught a foul ball in my life.
I’ve been to Yank and Met and Giant games
For decades. I’m talking more than seven – – –
And I’ve never come closer than
Two sections away. That’s like
Aiming to kiss your lover but smooching
Your affection-starved pooch instead.
But I am Ralph Kramden, looking for
That get-rich quick scheme that will
Get me out of driving that damn bus,
I am what those less than kind refer to as
The eternal optimist, seeing gold
Where there is pyrite,
Believing veggie “meat” tastes
Just like filet mignon, maybe better.
Baseball is a game of dreams
And if I want to hold on to my fantasy
That there is somewhere, one day,
Some way a foul ball waiting to come home
To my lonely, loving arms,
The universe must bow to confidence
And the law of averages
And send me to the game I will recall
Forever as the time I got that freaking ball!
THE POETRY OF THE GAME