Good pitching …

Home Run Baker hit one off Marquard, one off Matty.
McGraw took it hard.
Because homers’ weren’t common to the game,
These two earned Frank his name.
Giants thought they’d be boss.
As it turned out. They lost.

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The black prince

Learned to play first like it was ballet.
Grew up in the Santa Clara Valley,
Where each March,
When the season started,
Light and clouds shifted above blooming orchards,
In unforgettable interplay.

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All over town

1900’s. Baseball everywhere.
We understand the game’s presence,
Remembering graffiti in the eighties,
How it made us tense.

1904 and 1912

Too proud to play the Red Sox,
McGraw said suck my cock.
In 1912 both were champs again.
Boston was given revenge –
The Giants should have won,
but let two balls drop.

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The outfielders

Ty and Wahoo Sam,
Struggled to be the man.
Sam had more power.
Ty burst into flower,
Blooming all over the place.
The one we dream about today.

The philosopher

Recognizing America’s greed
Chadwick demanded players not gamble
Play without pay
Be a new breed.

Turn of the century

They grew up on horses
Retired in cars.
Leaving bars
They glimpsed stars,
Remembering prairies after a game.
Their glove a pillow.
Boys dreaming of fame.