It didn’t have to be; it wasn’t fated that the Trolley Dodgers
Would leave behind their faithful, loving fans — the ones who,
When Gil Hodges went into a deep, deep slump, didn’t boo or
Curse him out but rather prayed to God for him to regain his
Hitting touch, who just knew the Chief baseball Deity
Was a Brooklyn Dodger fan — and seek their Walk (or rather
Homer) of Fame on the Wrong Coast after the 1957 season
(Just two years after Podres led them finally to their first
World Series victory). Sure, there’s bitter irony in the timing
And a bitter taste in the mouth of every fan of “them Bums”
But eschew burning owner Walter O’Malley effigies and (for
Those dwindling numbers of die-hard Brooklyn fans) focus your
Regrets and broken hearts at one Robert Moses, King of
New York Projects, for when O’Malley asked for a new
Stadium to be built in Brooklyn in a perfect location for
Varied modes of transportation, Moses spoke as if his
Words were holy and pointed to a spot in Flushing,
Queens and proclaimed, “Build your baseball cathedral
On this promised land or gather up your people and
Seek greener pastures!” “But we are of Brooklyn, not of
Queens,” was the response . . . and it came to be that
The Dodger Tribe gathered all belongings and sojourned
Three thousand miles to Chavez Ravine and left behind
Thousands of broken fans. And abandoned fans showed
Up for souvenirs when a wrecking ball painted like a
Baseball started smashing the old faithful field, and a few
Carried away parts of seats and turf and many memories
And tears for all the years. So now, where once there lived
A Field called Ebbets, a place where played Furillo and
Campanella. Robinson, Reese and the Duke, there are housing
Projects and very few who could recall that baseball once
Found a treasured home where the fans were closer to
Their beloved athletes than any other. One day the last of
These dedicated fans will be gone to that trolley depot in
The sky, and you can bet, if offered a free transfer to watch
Those L. A. Dodgers, they will refuse. The original is always
Better than the imitation.
THE POETRY OF THE GAME