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.

O

Like a shintO gOOse egg,
The letter “O” is perfect.

rOOkies Of the Year,
Include a Japanese “O” sect:

1995: nOmO.
2000: kazuhirO.
2001: ichirO.
2018: shOhei.

frOm nippOn’s baseball pantheOn,
There’s One “O”

whO shOuld be in cOOperstOwn:
Sadaharu Oh.

A Suffering Cubs Fan’s Wabi-Sabi

Japanese concept
Of wabi-sabi captures
Cubs austerity

Spring Training’s Desert Hopes

All the teams are
Tied for first,
And might just win 2025’s World Series.

Hope blooms in
The Cactus League.

Rookies and vets
Have a thirst,
A spot on the team means no unemployment wearies.

Hope blooms in
The Cactus League.

Legends like Fergie Jenkins
Make Sloan Park burst,
Cheering on my novel’s baseball queries.

Hope blooms in
The Cactus League.

Gem : No-Hitter :: Prize : Nobel

Pitchers threw No-Nos:
Blanco, Cease, Snell, Cubs-combo.
Han Kang won Nobel.

Baseball Parity, Chicago Parody

Had the Dodgers
Lost just one more game,
This sub-600 season woulda been lame.

The winning percentage
Of most every other team,
Was surely a parity-lover’s dream.

Leaving aside the Angels, Marlins, Rockies,
And the historically bad White Sox,
All the other ballclubs had their shots.

Within sniffing distance of the wild card,
A couple of wins here and there
Woulda given your team a playoff share.

If the Mets and Tigers coulda
Advanced to the second round,
My Cubbies, too, shoulda stuck around.

Yeah, there may be MLB pair-a-tee,
But as Steve Goodman’s Dying Cubs Fans know
They still play the blues in Chi-ca-go.

The Oakland Blues

You lose a game,
And it hurts
Like a paper cut.

You don’t make the playoffs,
And it hurts
Like a broken nose.

You lose the last game of the World Series,
And it hurts
Like a Type III fracture.

You lose one hundred and twenty games,
And it still don’t hurt
Like having your heart ripped out.

Becuz’ in your world,
The hurt will heal
As you wait until next year.

Like a rainbow thief, the A’s owner
Has forever stolen the Green & Gold
And left only the Blues.

He’s stealing away,
Up Highway 80 to sAcrAmento,
Chasing a pot o’ gold to lAs vegAs.

The letter “A” has been ripped out of
The O*kl*nd *lph*bet.
And now he*rt sounds like hurt.

A broken old man sits crying
In the desolate Coliseum
With a cancer of the heart.

Becuz’ in his world,
The hurt will metastasize
On every Opening Day.

Go-juu/Go-juu, 50/50

In Japan, on July 5, 1994,
A mama flipped a coin;
A papa flipped it once more.

Go-juu/Go-juu: a Japanese number, now Dodger Blue!

Glove in hand, Papa wanted a boy;
Hugging a doll, Mama wanted a girl.
Regardless, their healthy child was a joy.

Go-juu/Go-juu: a Japanese number, now Dodger Blue!

On a Miami night, some 30 years later,
Some fans wanted a stolen base,
Others wanted a 400-foot homer.

Ain’t a swifty 50/50 out-of-the-ballpark nifty!

For all baseball fans, what a joyous treat
To watch Shohei Otani
Achieve his prodigious feat.

Ain’t a swifty 50/50 out-of-the-ballpark nifty!

Holy Cow! Holy Cow! Holy Cow! Holy Cow!

It might be …

In 1945, Harry, the great-grandpater,
Told beer-fueled stories about Cardinals like Stan the Man.

It could be …

Harry’s son, Skip, made calls straighter,
As straight as a Braves arrow off the bat of Hammerin’ Hank.

It is!

Skip’s boy is a charismatic Chip off the old block.
First with Gramps and the Cubs; then Dad and the Braves; and now the Cards.

A home run!!

In 2024, Chris joined the Caray MLB broadcast stock.
A’s fans hear echoes in this descendant of baseball’s royal family of bards.

Holy Cow!!!

These joyful announcers hit an inside-the-ballpark family-four-bagger.
Calling games for the A’s, Cards, Cubs, Braves, and Sox with swagger.

Take Me Out to the Ball Game!!!!

Four generations talkin’ baseball lore.
Harry Christopher Caray: I, II, III, IV.