Three rivers stadium – 1975

Hot. Humid.
No sun.
I loved Sanguillen.
Swingin’ at whatever looked good.

Girl watchers

A writer said to Rose,
Fewer boys play the game.
Pete said notice girls’ clothes.
You and I would do the same.

When Reggie slid home in Detroit,
There was tremendous noise.
A real man transformed from little boy.

Mays didn’t talk race
Though the risk was so much less.
It would have been misplaced
His game was what would impress.

Ty ran.
Determined to win.
Willie’s run was fun.
All the joy in him.

There was no time limit,
But in those days darkness was the clock.
It wasn’t until night ball that the game might never stop.

Old time players drank.
They didn’t take steroids.
Proud and hungover,
They inspired men and boys.

Ruth didn’t let little kids stay shoved to the back.
He urged them forward.
Wrote them his autograph.

Cobb looked upon baseball as work.
To Ruth it was pride and joy.
Ty was considered a jerk.
Babe never lost his boy.

Ruth eclipsed Cobb’s sun.
Today’s America had begun.

Cobb envied Ruth’s swing.
Poetry in motion that made Babe king.