Eridanis
Bard 7/Mod (ret) 10/Mgr 3
Just had to share two of my favorites. Go Mets!
The first, from Herman Melville, mid-19thC:
And now hurrah! for the speeding ball
Is flung in the viewless air,
And where it will strike in its rapid fall
The boys are hastening there-
And the parted lip and the eager eye
Are following its descent,
Whilst the baffled stumbler’s fall cry
With th’ exulting shout is blent.
The leader now of either band
Picks cautiously his men,
And the quickest foot and the roughest hand
Are what he chooses then.
And see! the ball, with swift rebound,
Flies from the swinging bat,
While the player spurns the beaten ground,
Nor heeds his wind-caught hat.
But the ball is stopped in its quick career,
And is sent with a well-aimed fling,
And he dodges to feel it whistling near,
Or leaps at its sudden sting.
Whilst the shot is hailed with a hearty shout,
As the wounded one stops short,
For his "side" by the luckless blow is out-
And the others wait their sport.
And the second one, a 20thC piece by Jim Dodge:
Play-By-Play
Playing whiffle-ball near dusk
with my five-year-old boy
on a soft summer evening
I’m both pitcher and announcer:
"And here it is, a three-one fastball
to young Jason Dodge,
and—oh my goodness—he turns on it,
deep drive, dead center,
way back, absolutely crushed,
a speck vanishing over the garden fence,
long, looooooog gone
like a turkey through the corn
with its red pajamas on—
so far outa here
they’ll have to send out a search party."
And folks, that’s the thrill
of turning one around,
of getting it all,
dead-mortal solid on the sweet spot
the alchemical uncoiling
of power into flight.
And Jason, so pleased
he’s about to burst out himself,
says, "Go get that ball.
There's still plenty of light."
The first, from Herman Melville, mid-19thC:
And now hurrah! for the speeding ball
Is flung in the viewless air,
And where it will strike in its rapid fall
The boys are hastening there-
And the parted lip and the eager eye
Are following its descent,
Whilst the baffled stumbler’s fall cry
With th’ exulting shout is blent.
The leader now of either band
Picks cautiously his men,
And the quickest foot and the roughest hand
Are what he chooses then.
And see! the ball, with swift rebound,
Flies from the swinging bat,
While the player spurns the beaten ground,
Nor heeds his wind-caught hat.
But the ball is stopped in its quick career,
And is sent with a well-aimed fling,
And he dodges to feel it whistling near,
Or leaps at its sudden sting.
Whilst the shot is hailed with a hearty shout,
As the wounded one stops short,
For his "side" by the luckless blow is out-
And the others wait their sport.
And the second one, a 20thC piece by Jim Dodge:
Play-By-Play
Playing whiffle-ball near dusk
with my five-year-old boy
on a soft summer evening
I’m both pitcher and announcer:
"And here it is, a three-one fastball
to young Jason Dodge,
and—oh my goodness—he turns on it,
deep drive, dead center,
way back, absolutely crushed,
a speck vanishing over the garden fence,
long, looooooog gone
like a turkey through the corn
with its red pajamas on—
so far outa here
they’ll have to send out a search party."
And folks, that’s the thrill
of turning one around,
of getting it all,
dead-mortal solid on the sweet spot
the alchemical uncoiling
of power into flight.
And Jason, so pleased
he’s about to burst out himself,
says, "Go get that ball.
There's still plenty of light."
Oh well. 161 left. As for other games — Jeter, ouch. That's not good at all.
