Little kids navigate to fairy tales. They feel the gentle blanket
Of joy when wrapped in one such tale. They are secure, safe
From mysterious hurt and the grief of loss that they are never
Quite prepared for. My go-to fairy tale, in my pre-teen youth, was
The story composed by the New York Yankees last mid-century.
There were villains and a glorious setting, heroes and challenges
To overcome and, for that half-decade of my innocence, the tale
They wrote with their gloves and bats created for me a magical
Bronx palace that provided the glory that offered me escape
From my daily homey but at times too real Bronx apartment.
It was not an Emerald City, though what defined it was indeed
The emerald grass upon which mystical characters danced
As well as a diamond-dust-kissed in sandy tan earth. The heroes
Were well known and have since moved on to existence
In Cooperstown but their supporting cast – – – with names
Like Mize and Woodling, Bauer, Brown, Rizzuto – – –
Held up my icons and gave me a family that was
Complete (unlike my own). Villains came from regions
Not so far away, kingdoms known as Brooklyn and
Boston and Cleveland and St. Louis. But year after
Year, story after story, the fire-breathing invaders
Were set down by my heroes identified by me by
Simple numbers: 5 and 7 and 8 and more. Each day
From April to September these real-life champs
Regaled me with their prowess and their victories
And I could smile away my homely loneliness.
Even in my play, they were omnipresent. I dressed
In Mantle’s shirt self-made; when I was at bat, I
Took his stance. This Prince among mortals was
Featured in every fairy tale I witnessed – – –
Especially the ones I saw in person. I was a true
Believer in these tales of majesty and victory
And year after year I was rewarded with their
Conquest of unworthy challengers.
But, as you know (probably from personal experience),
Little kids grow up and magic dragons cease to exist
And stuffed puppies no longer feel like home security
And fairy tales no longer offer easy ways of understanding
Our complicated and challenging universe. Our heroes
Too soon fade away. Where have you gone, Joe Di Maggio
— and Mickey Mantle, Yogi Berra, Whitey Ford, Casey
Stengel? Down we forget as up we grow, as cummings
Noted. The Yankees of the 1950’s are no more. The House
That Ruth Built is no more. Dynasties are doomed the
Day they are born. Ask Ozymandias. The fairy tale that
Fed and sheltered me has dissipated into distant recall.
It’s sad . . . but, in a vital way, it’s full of bliss. For as long
As memory waits to serve, I can return to those safe days
Of magic and live again from the front row behind my team’s
Dugout the great offense and clutch defense that brought
Home all those crowns. I can hear the pinstriped players
Speaking calm encouragement to their ‘mates. Yes, it was
Once upon a time but that time does not fade as long as
I look back and smile. That’s the true magic of fantasies
Which once upon a time really did come true.