For the past few years, I’ve written a baseball poem about watching the playoffs or the world series. Today, I share my hope, love and pain, things all baseball lovers know from loving the sport.
My husband loves the Red Sox.
I’m rooting for the ‘Stros.
The series is tied, grand slams aside,
as I endure great pitching woes.
With an ERA of 20.5
in 5 1/2 innings of the series
there isn’t a rhyme to convey
the misery this beginning wearies
In baseball, it’s always possible,
and that’s why we watch and love the game,
and don’t presume no matter the score
that the outcome is pre-ordained.
It’s true we could chip away at the lead
all we need is heart, hits and time.
But I know pitching’s what we need
Go ‘Stros. It’s now three to nine.
It’s the bottom of the fourth,
on pitcher number does it matter?
there’s a lot of baseball left,
and the ‘Stros just walked another batter.
We’ve made it to the sixth,
and the ‘Stros could still rally
there goes another walk…
and now they’ve taken out Raley.
Urguidy, Garcia, Taylor
Raley, Marton, Martinez
and now it’s Eleven to Three
in the ongoing disastrous
The final score is twelve to three
and I am going to bed,
is not the Astro’s sorrow,
and we tie the series instead.