I’ve been wanting to get into more of the early 20th century genre of baseball poetry as written by sports writers. None of the vague stuff, no complicated metaphors or symbolism. Nope. This is fun, this is baseball poem as offshoot of game recap. Anyway, we start with Ford C. Frick, former newspaperman, NL president, and MLB commish:
You step up to the platter
And you gaze with flaming hate
At the poor benighted pitcher
As you dig in at the plate.
You watch him cut his fast ball loose,
Then swing your trusty bat
And you park one in the bleachers-
Nothing’s simpler than that!
For those of you in the market for more modern day poetry, just change the title to Along Came Albert.