Cinco de Mayo

05/05/2012

Cardinals 2 Astros 8

Deadbirds,

Just a wee poem expressing my misery over your three game losing streak (and against the Pirates and Astros, smh):

Oh, woe is me! My birds

have dropped three straight

to the worst of the league!

I would ugly cry, but it's early May-- not the dog days of August. Though I will definitely ugly cry if hindsight reveals this to be the early arrival of the dreaded June Swoon (when "good" teams go bad and stay bad).

Go get 'em tomorrow, men!  Meanwhile, your road record is going to look ugly if you continue on this track. 

Just sayin'.

'Til Later

Thnks Fr Th Mmrs

Dear Albert, also known as:

"El Hombre"(an alias you've never actually assumed),

"Phat Albert," "The Machine,"

"Prince Albert" and "The Mang,"

Minute Maid's train

I will always remember that October night in 2005

when baseball fans coined the term "Lidged,"

for epically blown saves.

You sent Brad Lidge's pitch soaring

through Minute Maid Park, over the Crawford boxes,

and onto the railroad tracks.

Three runs scored, and the Houston crowd was so silent

I bet they heard the dirt fall from your cleats

as you step on home plate.  They had been so loud

that the TV crew kept mentioning the decibel level, marveling

at each new high.  After the umpteenth update I had wanted something

to steal the breath from the crowd, and was thinking of all the ways

I would break that infernal meter myself.  The louder

that crowd became, the more desperation replaced

hope in my heart and the louder the disbelief and doubt

pounded between my ears, but your home run restored my world.

I had Cardinals baseball for one more night.

In 2009, you hit five grand slams.  My favorite

was during this game against the Mets.  That game was a thrill

because the team had just done the impossible

against K-Rod-- scored not only one, but two runs to force

extra innings.  The only problem 

was it occurred shortly after that long, crazy

15 inning game against the Dodgers.  My nerves

couldn't handle another one of those games so soon.  You

saved my sanity with those insurance runs.

Last summer you stroked a double

for your 2000th hit.  As you stood on second, fighting

tears and acknowledging the crowd, I bet you could hear

how the crowd's congratulatory applause sounded

an awful lot like "please stay."  

You didn't stay.  I was relieved

that the Cardinals hadn't signed you to a ten year deal.  Relieved

because I wouldn't have to watch you at forty, hobbling to first

on a grounder to third.  There will be only good moments

for me to recall, spectacular memories to smile and mull over.

I am happy I saw you play ball

for eleven historic years.  And I am sad that there are only

eleven years of memories.  I am sad that your 3000th hit

and 500th home run won't come in a Cardinal uniform.

It would have been the perfect

story, wouldn't it?  It would've been sweet

if you had continued your starring role in St. Louis-- the city embraced

you because you so fully embodied our beloved team-- playing

for the fans who watched the central role you held in the Cardinal

memories formed since your debut.

In December, this letter would've only said:

Thnks fr th mmrs & good rddnce, #@!%! 

I feel no ill will now, and there's only this left to say:

Thanks for the memories, and good luck!

Good Bye.

Throwing Errors and Unearned Runs

Cardinals--

I hope you guys aren't making a habit
of throwing the ball
into "souvenir city" with men on base.

What is this urgency to get everybody
out on one play?
It only results in sloppy defense.

I love the aggressiveness you are showing, but
be smart and play under control.  Stop
playing dumb baseball.

I know, I know, you look brilliant if you record
the out.  But in order to do that, the ball
has to land in your teammate's glove-- not in a fan's beer.

And once it's in the beer...
you look foolish, not smart, as the runs
you were trying to prevent touch home.

So, please, once you get the sure out,
pocket the ball, it's the smartest way
to prevent unearned runs.

Now, don't overcorrect and begin playing
overly cautious and timid. 
Don't be stupid, boys.

'Til Later

Credo

This blog will contain more than letter-formatted posts.  I fancy myself a poet, so poems are inevitable. This particular poem is a sort of credo, containing things I believe in and exploring the contradictions of myself through a baseball motif.

Perspective: A Credo

If I ever root for the Cubs in this life, or any of my next lives, I'll go to Wrigley and hope

a drunk fan knocks me out for good with a fallen brick.  I believe in line drive hitters, ground ball

pitchers, the gray between the lines, winner's luck, a good defense, the pitch

that misses the sweet swing, sacrifices, honesty, and stealing

home.  I write to upset the cool businessmen in the party suite, and my words

are a salve for the fans scalded in the upper deck steam.  I am the victory

parade and the eight-game losing streak.  I don't think true love exists, but my soul

mate is going to be six foot two and handsome.  I am the dropped ball and the home run. I play

in shallow thinking and dive into the deep issues. I am the perfect

game and the ten earned runs. I love; but I fight

just as well.  I see the climbing baseball, the ball-busting catch, the opponent-spiking slide, and

my angle is off, my lens a bit dirty, my shutter too slow, but sometimes-- I think I get it right.