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BASEBALL POEM
An ode to the National Pastime
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For baseball fans, spring training is the salad to the main course.
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The salad is now being served and the main course will immediately follow.
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Now is the time for one fan's ode to the game he loves!
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A Baseball Love Letter
Published by Michael Walsh on February 14, 2009 12:18 am
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The other sports are just sports. Baseball is a love. - Bryant Gumbel, 1981
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This Valentine’s Day I thought that, in the tradition of the great bards, I would write an ode to my one true love. An ode replete with all of the things I hold dear about my one and only. An ode to the one that gives me hope, brings me joy and forever fills me with child-like optimism. Of course, that love is baseball.
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I love opening day and the renewed sense that this year will be the year for my beloved Cubbies.
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I love the way the grass looks greener and the sky seems bluer after the umpire yells, “play ball!”
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I love doubleheaders, double plays, double steals, Double Duty Radcliffe and, well, doubles…
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I love the eephus pitch and the circle change; the splitter, the spitter and the four seamer.
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I love to hate the Yankees.
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I love singing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” at the top of my lungs during the seventh inning stretch.
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I love chin music.
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I love Goose Gossage, Ducky Medwick, and Paul Byrd.
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I love the tools of ignorance.
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I love Willie, Mickey and the Duke.
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I love overpriced hot dogs and watered-down beer (both taste great when you’re sitting in the cheap seats in the 104 degree summer sun).
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I love line drives into the gap.
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I love Moose Skowron and Rob Deer.
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I love nasty breaking stuff.
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I love Tinkers to Evers to Chance.
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I love bleacher seats and bleacher bums.
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I love the suicide squeeze.
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I love Murderer’s Row, ‘Dem Bums and The Gashouse Gang.
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I love The Big Donkey, Mule Haas and The Wild Hoss of the Osage.
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I love the Spaceman, the Moon-man and The Rocket.
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I love the Called Shot, the Shot Heard ‘Round the World (but not Marge Schott…).
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I love that no two ball parks are alike.
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I love 60 feet 6 inches.
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I love the crack of the bat, the roar of the crowd and the Champagne celebration.
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I love Steve Bartman, the Billy Goat and the Black Cat (some things you just have to accept).
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I love Rickey talking about Rickey and I love Manny being Manny.
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I love the Big Unit, the Big Hurt, the Big Train, and Big Papi.
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I love Little Luis Aparicio, Little Joe Morgan and the Little Professor.
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I love 6-4-3 double plays.
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I love inside-the-parkers and walk-off blasts.
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I love watching the third base coach give the signs.
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I love knee-buckling 12 to 6 curve balls (good ol’ Uncle Charlie!).
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I love Jackie Robinson for making baseball what it had always purported to be – America’s Game.
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I love King Kelly, Mel Queen and Prince Fielder.
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I love Happy Chandler and Sad Sam Jones.
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I love Lee May, June Greene, Don August and Mr. October.
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I love full counts and Count Montefusco.
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I love the Texas leaguer, the dying quail and the can a corn.
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I love the Bronx Cheer.
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I love the Mendoza Line.
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I love three up, three down.
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I love hustling in and hustling out.
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I love Ryan Church, Preacher Roe and Jesus Alou.
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I love Bud Black and Roy White; Red Schoendist and Shawn Green; Vida Blue and Mordecai Brown.
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I love the Crime Dog and The Big Cat.
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I love extra innings.
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I love Chili Davis, Pepper Martin, and Bob Spicer.
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I love Candy Cummings, Coco Crisp and Sweet Lou Whitaker.
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I love to hear my grandfather say that “none of these guys could hit like Gehrig.”
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I love to hear my father say that “none of these guys could hit like Aaron.”
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I love knowing that none of those guys could hit like Pujols.
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I love the box seat and the box score.
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I love the Bash Brothers (still…).
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I love day games played on real grass in National League parks (so the pitcher has to take his cuts).
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I love that Junior and Senior got to play together.
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I love explaining the infield fly rule to my girlfriend for the fifteenth time.
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I love watching Lou Piniella lose his cool.
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I love plays at the plate.
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I love head-first slides.
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I love that Jamie Moyer is still pitching.
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I love that moment of realization during a perfecto when someone asks, “has anyone been on base?”
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I love being on the road and finding a game on the radio.
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I love the way I feel like a kid again when I am at the ballpark.
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I love the way that the game can break my heart and then make it soar all in the span of a few plays.
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I love that on the worst summer days baseball is there to take my mind off of my troubles, fears and doubts.
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But most of all, I love baseball.
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And, no matter what anyone says about my game or my heroes it will always be pure in my heart because love is blind.
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I see none of its flaws and love it for its outer and inner beauty.
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Do yourself a favor this season – forget all of the talk about steroids and collusion and mismanagement and greedy players and just enjoy the game that we all hold so dear.
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Just love the game. You’ll thank yourself later.
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