Raj Oza
"PLAY BALL!"
"PLAY BALL!"

A Rose Is a Rose Is a Rose Is a Rose

This poem’s title is from Gertrude Stein’s “Sacred Emily.” The quotes in the poem are from A. Bartlett Giamatti’s A Great and Glorious Game.

“It breaks your heart.
It is designed to break your heart.”
Yes, I’m Commissioner Giamatti,
Baseball’s renaissance Bart.

“The game begins in the spring,
when everything else begins again.”
Young Petey didn’t begin playing ball
In some Little League gambler’s den.

“And it blossoms in the summer,
Filling the afternoons and evenings.”
With playful innocence and integrity,
He played Rookie of the Year innings.

“And then as soon as the chill rains come,
It stops and leaves you to face the fall alone.”
As a fading star and manager,
Peter Edward Rose bet on his own.

“You count on it,
Rely on it to buffer the passage of time.”
Fans counted on me, depended on MLB,
To call the betting a crime.

“To keep the memory of sunshine
And high skies alive.”
The bloom was off the Rose;
I banned him from baseball for life.

“And then just when the days are all twilight,
When you need it most, it stops.”
His Hall of Fame creds were extinct,
The man a triceratops.

“Of course, there are those who learn after the first few times.
They grow out of sports.”
Sure, Charlie tried to hustle me,
Appealing to the courts.

“And there are others who were born
With the wisdom to know that nothing lasts.”
Trump’s lackey, Manfred, litigated
My ban, dimming the game’s glorious past.

“These are the truly tough among us, the ones who can live without illusion,
Or without even the hope of illusion.”
Now Cooperstown must confront
Its Veterans Committee’s voting confusion.

“I am not that grown-up
Or up-to-date.”
So, childlike, I ponder,
What should be Pete’s fate?

“I am a simpler creature,
Tied to more primitive patterns and cycles.”
The book of baseball bylaws
Is verily one of my bibles.

“I need to think something lasts forever,
And it might as well be that state of being that is a game.”
My ballot? No, Mr. Rose, no.
For you, only the Hall of Shame.

“It might as well be that,
In a green field, in the sun.”
I’m on the wrong side of history.
Grifters and gamblers have—this day—won.

MLB George Floyd Team

On May 25, 2020, in the middle of a pandemic, head pressed onto a Minneapolis street, George Floyd died not of Covid but of a different virus: a blue knee to a Black neck.

1B   George Sisler
2B   Jorge Orta
SS   George Davis
3B   George Brett

LF   Cliff Floyd
CF   Curt Flood
RF   Floyd Robinson

C    Jorge Posada

LHP   Floyd Bannister
RHP   Floyd Youmans

MGR   George Bamberger
MVP   Harmon “Killer” Killebrew (for his genuine Minnesota kindness)

Mordecai’s Ghost

On a warm May eve in 2025, the ghost of Mordecai Brown
Returned to his playing field on the North Side of old Chi-Town.

At Addison he stepped out of a rumbling El train.
And then he mumbled while jangling his rusty chain:

“Mordecai. More to come. One, two, three.”

Leaning on a cane, he tried to get into Wrigley with a dollar in hand.
The ticket taker said, “A buck won’t get you anywhere across this land.”

Brown’s gnarled three fingers reached into a hole in his pockets.
He grumbled about the owner, bottom-line Tom Ricketts:

“Mordecai. More to come. Four, five, six.”

Back in 1916, Wrigley Field was called Weeghman Park;
The final year of his lifetime 2.06 ERA that left a pitching mark.

Today, the Cubs could’ve used his knuckle curve against the Giants;
The boys from SF scored too many runs in extra innings of defiance:

“Mordecai. More to come. Seven, eight, nine.”

Nice Guys Finish First (In the Eyes of God)

The smoke was white.
Like the W flag, it signaled a victory
For Chicagoans.

Some say that Wrigley Field
Is a cathedral for those who
Believe in baseball as their religion.

Older Cubs fans lionized one Leo:
Durocher — manager, gambler, and author of
Nice Guys Finish Last.

Now we celebrate a more spiritual Leo.
The Vatican City’s conclave elected
Robert Francis Prevost as pope.

Residents of St. Louis say he was a Cardinal.
He grew up on Chicago’s South Side,
So, maybe he cheers for the White Sox.

He’s the first American leader of the Catholic Church,
So, a wag in the Bronx would be excused for saying,
“Lemme tell ya, Doc, da Pope’s a Yankee!”

But given that he roots for the world’s underdogs,
Pope Leo surely is a Cubs fan whose faith knows that
Nice Guys Finish First.

May the Fours Be With You

Borrowing “May the Force be with you” from George Lucas’ “Star Wars”, this poem was written on May 4, a few days after Eugenio Suárez’s four-home-run game.

Lou Gehrig wore the number 4.
And he batted fourth in the Yankees lineup.
Columbia Lou was the first in baseball’s
Modern Era to hit four home runs in a game.

Star Wars: A slugger in such a zone.

If ever someone deserved four more decades,
It was The Iron Horse, who died too young.
Imagine how many more innings he would’ve played
If ALS hadn’t stopped his consecutive games at 2,130.

Star Wars: A stalwart in such a streak.

On July 4, 1939, in Yankee Stadium,
At the close of Lou Gehrig Appreciation Day,
The Quiet Hero declared himself the
“Luckiest Man on the Face of the Earth.”

Star Wars: A baseball saint in such a state.

Wrigley Windy

To the tune of Ruthann Friedman’s song “Windy,” recorded by The Association.

Who’s blowin’ it outta’ the ballpark,
Enabling homers lighter than air?
Who’s keepin’ hope to give me a comeback?
Everyone knows it’s Wrigley.

Who’s trippin’ up the Arizona D’backs,
Smilin’ at every slugger she sees?
Who’s combinin’ the most runs in an inning?
Everyone knows it’s Wrigley.

And Wrigley has stormy eyes
That result in a pitcher’s demise.
And Wrigley has homers to fly.
Above the clouds . . .
A windy win for the Cubs.
Above the clouds  . . .
A windy win for the Cubs.

Glove of Dreams

On sandlots every Spring, Summer and Fall,
It caught many a ball.

I still love
My Bobby Murcer Glove.

Though my bats are in heaven above,
I still have that childhood glove.

Had I known of Shigeaki Aso,
My glove of dreams could have taken me pro.

Aso is Wilson’s “Ball Glove Master Craftsman;”
With his tender care, my mitt might still see the sun.

Instead, that old slab of leather
Waits for its season of dreamy weather.

When my granddaughters play softball,
My glove will be there, Spring, Summer and Fall.