8.27.2007

even the new york times can't let this one go by without comment

sometimes, it is just too easy. and too fun. note the "air quotes". or regular quotes, i suppose, as they are in print. anyway, they're sarcastic. and we all know momma loves her some sarcasm!

8.21.2007

new poem, part 2

LOVE LETTER POSTMARKED MICHIGAN AND TRUMBLE

    for my Detroit Tigers    


 


 

Even Abuelito, limping into the Loma

with a mistress at his hip

taught me to love the lost men

before I knew he was among them


 

to love them even more the further they went away

when one could only listen through the radio

in the driveway of the old house on Fairmont


 

losses stepping upon losses

like the bricks of the new ballpark.


 

Because I waited for you for years


 

and you couldn't even set the record

for most losses in one season


 

because that, in its own way, would be

a kind of win.


 

You have brought back high knee socks

and pants stopping just below the knee


 

and I learned to love you

the way every woman in my family

has learned to love any man


 

stumbling over the positives

("we were in almost every game")


 

waiting for next year

it could always be so much worse

as a friend says, we could all have one leg.


 

And yes, Jim Leyland is right, anyone can gauge

the prowess of a man

by the sound of the ball leaving his bat,


 

though Craig Monroe had been in the majors for years

before he found it, the sweet spot,

the spot where, my love, every pitch

is a weak ankle shattering.


 


 

new poem, part one

SIX THINGS

    for Tim, suggesting I make a list of ten things I truly believe


 


 

I believe in Bobby Higginson

the working class hero

my father who rises every morning

before it is morning

to hurl watt after watt like lightning bolts

from the open blisters of his palms.


 

I believe in being five

my father teaching me to throw

in the backyard/ our house on Crescent Avenue:

sidearm

hard

almost no arc on the ball

watched it tail

as a ten inch comet

to my father's open mitt.


 

I believe in drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon

between innings

bruise like a lunar eclipse on one thigh

being knocked unconscious

waking with the ball still in my glove.


 

I believe in protecting the plate.


 

I believe in falling in love

with baseball players:

the way a man's quadriceps change

when he is crouched behind the plate

the certain perfection of a

fundamentally sound swing

the feathery gradations infield dirt makes

on home jerseys;


 

the way a man watching a ball

orbit

into the upper deck of right field

arms stretched

bat as an arrow

seems ready

to impale the stars.


 

I believe in the light

created by a hundred-mile-an-hour fastball

Zumaya hurling pitches

that pass in a blur of seams

red giant:

flames flaring up one wrist.


 

8.20.2007

and the douchebag of the year award goes to...

...michael vick!

things michael vick is famous for, outside dogfighting and executing pit bulls:

1. telling the media he would "straighten out" his younger brother marcus.
2. playing quarterback for the atlanta falcons, who drew up an entirely new offense to give vick a chance to run the ball. (you do the math...)
3. having worse QB stats and ratings than joey harrington, his new replacement. by the way, the lions RELEASED harrington; meaning quarterbacks pass and scramble, but they DO NOT RUN. see: kordell "slash" stewart.
4. attempting to sneak pot through an airport in a water bottle...and succeeding!


as all major sports media outlets have been quick to point out, though, even prison time won't keep the NFL vick-less for good. i bet forty-three cents the lions will sign him after his release.

there is always hope

the tigers need something like a shot in the arm, and i tend to think the best man to give it to them is zumaya--a.k.a. "he who wears the flames of a fastball on one arm".

if zumaya comes back tomorrow, and andrew miller makes a move to the bullpen, we'll finally have enough relievers to, say, NOT LET GRILLI OR SEAY PITCH, (sorry, i feel strongly about them) and pull out a reliever when it is time, not when we finally have a non-dead arm ready to go.

i'm baseball obsessed right now.

oops--correction.

in yesterday's post, i mean to refer to the complex duel between the pitcher and the batter. it's only a duel between pitcher and catcher if fernando rodney is on the mound, and refuses to throw what pudge is calling.

anyway, oops. and thanks to gavin for pointing it out:-)

8.19.2007

strateg-ery

i have been saying, quite frequently as of late, that the aspect of baseball which is unique only to baseball is the complex duel at the heart of the game: pitcher vs. catcher. the mystery, for me at least, is in decoding it--or at least having some surface-type knowledge of it.

at last, as i haven't figured it out on my own (and haven't pulled my resume together to apply for the open spot as the detroit tigers bench coach) the new york times has run an article (complete with graphics and audio commentary!) on the art of "setting up" a hitter.

i have to admit, like most things i struggle to "get" at first glance, the methodical order and location of pitches is much simpler than i had imagined. except for the obvious, of course--ensuring the pitch you throw does what it is supposed to do.

8.14.2007

vacation, all i ever wanted...

I'll post a little write-up of the vacation soon, when I am not feeling so lethargic--until then, a sampling of the vacation fun can be found here.