In honor of Willie Howard Mays, Jr., 1931–2024
Stand on the shoulders
of the Giants’ Willie Mays
and roar, “Say Hey, Kids!”
The Rhyno
With apologies to Ogden Nash’s “The Rhinoceros”
The rhino is a homely beast.
Our Ryno was a home run beast.
For human eyes he’s not a feast.
For Cubbie fans he was a feast.
Farewell, farewell, you old rhinoceros.
Hello, hello, you stalwart Ryne Sandberg-us.
I’ll stare at something less prepoceros.
I’ll admire your likeness as a bronze iceberg-us.
Welcome to the HOF pantheon outside of Wrigley.
Along with Ernie, Billy, Ronnie, Harry, and Fergie.
The Negro Leagues Got Us Here
“I can’t believe it,”
said Hall of Famer Willie Mays.
“I never thought I’d see
in my lifetime
a Major League Baseball game
being played on the very field
where I played baseball as a teenager.
It has been 75 years
since I played for the
Birmingham Black Barons
at Rickwood Field…
To learn that my Giants
and the Cardinals will play
a game there and honor
the legacy of the Negro Leagues…
is really emotional for me.
We can’t forget
what got us here
and that was
the Negro Leagues
for so many of us.”
Willie Mays quoted by Bob Nightengale about the MLB game at Birmingham’s historic Rickwood Field to be played on June 20, 2024 (USA Today, June 20, 2023)
Dr. Oza’s novel Double Play sits at the intersection of Ernie Banks’ Cubs, the Negro Leagues, riding the “L,” wrongful convictions, immigration and friendship. It will be published in October 2024 by Chicago’s Third World Press.
Tell All the Stats but Tell them Slant
In honor of Emily Dickinson, 1830-1886. In 1887, the first Negro League was formed.
Tell all the stats but tell them slant —
Success in the baseball Circuit lies
Too bright for our unconscious bias
The Truth’s superb surprise is
Like a ball hit lightening quick
With Josh Gibson atop
Ty Cobb’s dazzling batting record
Or every fan be blind —
Holy Cow! Holy Calf, Grandcalf, Great-Grandcalf!
It might be …
In 1945, Harry, the great-grandpater
Told beer-fueled stories about Cardinals like Stan the Man.
It could be …
Harry’s son, Skip, made calls straighter,
As straight as a Braves arrow off the bat of Hammerin’ Hank.
It is!
Skip’s boy is a charismatic Chip off the old block.
First with Gramps and the Cubs; then Dad and the Braves; and now the Cards.
A home run!
In 2024, Chris joined the Caray MLB broadcast stock.
A’s fans hear echoes in this descendant of baseball’s royal family of bards.
Holy Cow!
These joyful announcers hit an inside-the-ballpark family-four-bagger.
Calling games for the A’s, Cards, Cubs, Braves, and Sox with swagger.
Take Me Out To The Ball Game!!!!
Four generations talkin’ baseball lore.
Harry Christopher Caray: I, II, III, IV.
The Most Exciting Play in Baseball
AN
-side-
In- -thE
park
HR
Skenes Zero-hitZ CubZ
Inning 1: Zero hits off pitching phenom Paul Skenes;
Three Cubs go down swinging.
Inning 2: Praise the name pronounced Skeenz;
Three more Ks: Ka-ching, Ka-ching, Ka-chinging.
Inning 3: He throws the ball 100 miles per hour;
“Only” one strikeout, but Cubs still have no hits.
Inning 4: From where does the kid get that power?
Two more strikeouts; batters flailing like twits.
Inning 5: Pitch after pitch, Skenes dominates;
A walk spoils his bid for perfection.
Inning 6: Comparisons whispered about all-time greats;
Quick-hook manager says, “You’re done, son.”
Innings 7, 8 and 9: Wrigley Field turns so bitter;
Pirates fans grumble, “Coulda been a no-hitter!”
Gramps Has the Yips
I taught my T-Ball-playing granddaughter
To throw balls straight like streaming water.
First, the four-seam grip.
She asked, “Got another tip?”
Now, get your feet in place.
She laughed, “Kinda like a race?”
Third, point your glove at me.
She pointed, “Sting like a bee?
Then she threw a perfect strike.
I was so proud of the little tyke.
I tossed it back way, way over her head.
She shoulda been teaching me instead.
She threw the ball like Sandy Koufax.
I screwed the ball like Steve “Bleeping” Sax.
Ten wild, wild throws later, with hands on hips,
I confessed to my granddaughter that I had the yips.
Mother Earth's Favorite
Chaupai (quatrain) poetry celebrating Mangla and Rajesh’s 40th anniversary on Earth Day, April 22, 2024.
My children’s mother loves all four of them dearly, holds them closely,
Just as Mother Earth loves her seasons: Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall.
As a fan, she loves all sports: Big Four, Olympics, and kabaddi;
As a teacher, she loves all students: quiet, chatty, short, and tall.
Holding my breath, I ask Mother Earth if there is a favorite.
She holds my head in her hands and shakes it like a Raggedy Ann.
“How can I choose one over the other; a child is not a chit.”
I reply, “My Queen, not our kids, but sports. Does one claim you its fan?”
She sighs. “It cannot be football, for it is violent and vile.
How can I root for players whose handsome faces I cannot see?
No, Fall’s game that blitzes and throws bombs and bullets raises my bile.
Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy is too high a fee.”
She freezes. “It is not hockey, for it neglects too many shades.
How can such a lovely sport be so limited in its pigment?
While it’s scintillating when pucks spring off of slap shots from curved blades,
I look around the ice, and skins brown and black are but a figment.”
She smiles. “It could be basketball; just see the boys and girls in shorts.
To be sure, there is so much beauty in this game of balls and nets.
Still, there is something unforgiving about wood and concrete courts.
To defend against Tex Winter’s Triangle Offense, one plays chess.”
She glows. “I should not choose between my offspring, for they all bring joy.
But it is baseball. It is baseball. Yes, it is our dear baseball.
After Winter’s snow melts, on grassy fields bats and balls we deploy.
A game for all ages and seasons, from Spring to Summer to Fall.”
K
It’s the last letter
In pitching’s “struck”.
So you and I better
Wish Clayton good luck.
There were many others
Who could hurl through a bat.
Our band of K-brothers
Includes Koufax and Kaat.
(This poem excludes
Those facing the mound.
So sadly, Kailua’s
Kila Ka’aihue ain’t around.)
Whether lefty or righty
Pitchers stand on the hill.
Looking awfully mighty
They slurve that pill.
Dallas Keuchel, one fears,
Has thrown his last MLB K.
So in his final year(s)
Let’s honor Kershaw . . . OK?