As any baseball fan knows,
when snow covers the diamond,
and the northern winds chill our bones,
the only recourse we have is to sit,
metaphorically, beside a pot-bellied stove
and offer suggestions on how best
to improve our favorite put-upon teams.
Please, Mr. G.M., can you cook me up
a flavorful recipe for a winning season?
Can you stir the pot
and let the cream of players
rise to the surface?
Can you light a match under your manager?
Can you bake me a clutch batter,
saute a seasoned shortstop,
fry a five-tool right fielder,
and roast me a quality reliever,
without fear of making a wrong cut?
I just need an alphabet soup bowl of hope
as I wait for the warmth and promise
of spring training to return.
THE POETRY OF THE GAME