Nobody could ever accuse baseball
of being the fastest sport in the world.
Its slow turtle-speed hearkens back to an age
when carriages clip-clopped on stone roads,
and lazy barges floated down the Erie Canal.
Now, a new scourge has afflicted
our treasured American pastime,
allowing baseball to crawl
at an even deadlier pace.
Dreaded replays have infected
every inning of the game.
Time-outs are called as umpires don headsets
to electronically decide issues on the field.
Both ball and runner seem to arrive
at home plate at the same time,
and offices in New York swing into service,
surveying thirty-seven different angles
before rendering a collective decision.
Where are the umpires of old,
the ones who had the courage of their convictions?
These men were not afraid to toss a batter
without the aid of some modern hardware.
Get rid of all the machines and gadgets, I say.
Baseball can ill afford to become even slower.
As a life-long fan, growing older every minute,
I simply just do not have the time.