The LuLac Edition #1811, October 26th, 2011
"Write On Wednesday" logo.
WRITE ON WEDNESDAY
365 by Jack Buck
As the baseball season winds down, tonight might be the last game of the World Series, I thought a poem written by baseball legendary broadcaster Joe Buck would be appropriate. Not known widely as a poet, this work is a reminder of why baseball fans love the game, every day of the year.
When someone asks you your favorite sport
And you answer Baseball in a blink
There are certain qualities you must possess
And you're more attached than you think.
In the frozen grip of winter
I'm sure you'll agree with me
Not a day goes by without someone
Talking baseball to some degree.
The calendar flips on New Year's Day
The Super Bowl comes and it goes
Get the other sports out of the way
The green grass and the fever grows.
It's time to pack a bag and take a trip
To Arizona or the Sunshine State
Perhaps you can't go, but there's the radio
So you listen-you root-you wait.
They start the campaign, pomp and pageantry reign
You claim the pennant on Opening Day
From April till fall
You follow the bouncing white ball
Your team is set to go all the way.
They fall short of the series
You have a case of the "wearies"
And need as break from the game
But when Christmas bells jingle
You feel that old tingle
And you're ready for more of the same.
It will be hot dogs for dinner
Six months of heaven, a winner
Yes, Baseball has always been it.
You would amaze all your friends
If they knew to what ends
You'd go for a little old hit.
The best times you're had
Have been with your Mom and your Dad
And a bat and a ball and a glove.
From the first time you played
Till the last time you prayed
It's been a simple matter of love.
posted by David Yonki @ 12:10 AM
2 comments
2 Comments:
I graduated from Lakewood High School in Ohio. Congressmen, Senators and a Governor have graduated from LHS, but the guy I was most proud of was Jack Buck. He was about as good as they get at calling a game.
Baseball stands out because of tradition and Jack Buck is part of
that tradition.
Pete
I'm inspired David. So, I thought
I'd try a verse of my own!
Cold winds will be in Mudville
By the time this weekend comes.
There's an empty field of memories
there.
Filled with "heros" and "Them Bums."
The ghosts that round the bases there...
Are the best that every played.
And the memories of Dads and kids...
Were the best they ever made.
It's more just 9 innings.
Or the "Classic" played each fall.
It goes back to fathers and their sons.
In their yard with bat and ball.
Players aren't immortal.
They'll all be gone someday.
But this game we love called baseball...
Rest assured is here to stay.
As long as there's a sandlot...and the summer precedes fall...they'll always be a bunch of kids...
Who hear the call "Play Ball!"
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