Baseball is the American Past time because it can be played anywhere there are windows a kid can break. I think just about every boy imagined that moment of glory when he led his team to final victory in the last inning of the World Series – to the grownups our games were just a way to get us out of the house and doing something that would – hopefully – wear us down. Maybe mom and dad didn’t take it serious but to us it was – it was
Our Stadium was thronged with folks:
Maples, poplars, elms and oaks,
All waving limbs and whistling boughs.
What we saw were cheering crowds!
Where home plate was a paper plate
I’d take my hero’s stance and wait
For taped up ball to hurtle in
Mighty Feller was the pitcher then!
Where Nicky waited with first base mitt
To try and rob me of my hit
A rock marked first, and every base –
Crosley Field we named this place!
Where the world series of the streets
Was played each day ’til time to eat,
And here I waited with broomstick bat –
This game to win with mighty whack!
My team was ‘skins’ and we were down
And dinner bells were soon to sound,
The sacks were jammed from first to third –
The cheering crowd was all I heard!
Billy Dell was on the mound,
The fastest Feller in our town!
He kicked his leg and spun and threw –
One more strike and I was through!
It seems a dream but I recall
I swung my stick and cracked that ball –
Around the bases the runners flew,
2 ghostmen and Ricky, too!
I stood to watch and savor glory,
The receding ball, a game of story
When around the corner came disaster
The game stayed tied forever after!
Returning home came Tommy’s father,
He drove without a care or bother,
turning right in ‘centerfield’
He caught my drive on his windshield!
The rules were clear and all agreed –
The ball was dead for Iron Steeds.
To think a Chevy caused our trouble –
My homer ruled a ground rule double!
© 1970 Charles Elledge