Welcome To The Club

The Baltimore Orioles were “Sweep … Swept … Swupt” by the Cubs this weekend. They were clobbered. Drubbed. Smooshed. Crushed. Laid to waste.

This morning, the O’s are nine games back in the AL East and tied for last (Good morning, last-mate Blue Jays!). They are seven games under .500.

The Orioles’ starting rotation’s ERA is 6.02 which is nearly the worst in baseball (thank you, Reds starters, whose 6.04 ERA has kept the O’s pitchers out of last place. At least for now).

How will I know it’s over? I’ll know it’s over when the beat writers headline their morning wrap-up “Available Orioles” … when fans hashtag their O’s tweets with #DumpsterFire and #Sell … and when in-the-knowsters like Ken Rosenthal name the teams that, like hungry dogs, are circling the Orioles looking for players.

(Uh-oh.)

I wrote a poem for you.

 

Welcome To The Club

The A’s sold some relievers

As they take their team apart

The Chi Sox Sale’d Quintana

The O’s have lost their heart.

 

The Blue Jays and the Phillies

The Reds and Giants, too

The season’s just half over

But, it’s off-season now for you.

 

For those teams who can’t win series

It’s the setting of the sun

Just picking out the prospects

Traded for their number ones.

 

Baseball in October

That day-dreaming now is done

For all those fans whose teams have slid

Baseball has lost its fun.

 

The game is not the story

Swept at home, or in a rout

The story’s now of trading

The men who got shut-out.

 

Have fun Astros and Dodgers

Brewers, Red Sox, and the Nats

While you’re out crushing baseballs

I’ll take pictures of my cats.

Cuz the rest of us are Mudville

“We’ve struck out” is what we sing

So, let’s close our eyes at bedtime

And dream of better things in spring.

 

Sit Back. Watch Poetry.

Tennis, World Cup, Baseball, Poetry. And, I buried the lead. Again.

Poetry is said to be emotion set to words.

Which, if the poetry is good, is deep and satisfying and stays with you like the memory of those crazy-good chocolate-chipotle and salted caramel gelatos from Splendora’s that I just started thinking about … and now I can’t shake.

gelato paradise

Gelato Poetry.

Not all poetry is good.

But, good poetry doesn’t need to be long or deep or hard to cut through.

This is good poetry. It’s one of my favorite poems that I recite to myself nearly every day.

Righty-tighty.

Lefty-loosey.

See, poetry can be beautiful and useful, too.

(I might argue that “Suckity, suck, suck” which sometimes slips out of me when the Orioles go bad at about the sixth inning is poetry, too. Not beautiful, but there’s a certain rhythmic honesty to it, don’t you think?)

Most important, poetry must be just-so. Just the right amount of words and rhythm and voice to convey an emotion or a thought.  And, nothing more.

One of my clients was at the French Open and when I asked him how it was he said simply, “Roger Federer is poetry.”

Federer is nearing the end of his career and was defeated early on in the Open, but, I knew what he meant.

Poetry in writing and in athletics and in Yoga … is when you don’t do too much, but you do just enough.

It appears effortless, even when you know that it isn’t.

You can see here, that my client is right about Federer.

 

And, here’s World Cup poetry. Guillermo Ochoa is the goalkeeper for Mexico. During this week’s game against heavily favored Brazil, they played to a tie, and Ochoa did this.

ochoa3

But, a tie, strangely enough, leaves the story untied, untidy, and unfinished.

A good poem, like a good baseball game, will always end. On Tuesday, it took the University of Virginia Cavaliers 15 innings, and nearly five hours, to defeat Texas Christian University in the College World Series.

UVa Shortstop Daniel Pinero had two errors in the game, including one that led to an unearned run for TCU.

But, poetry has a habit sometimes of wrapping things up neatly, forgiving the sins of the past, and making things just-so. Like this.

pinero 15

Pinero Poetry.

A good poem will hold you. It’s too beautiful to turn away.

Watching LA Dodger Clayton Kershaw pitch is always poetry. Seemingly effortless and beautiful to watch.

Listening to longtime broadcaster Vin Scully call a Dodger’s game, something he’s been doing for 65 years, is poetry, too. The rhythm, the words, and the beautiful silence that stretches between. Just right.

To see Kershaw pitch a no-hitter this week, with Scully sitting beside you … forget the rest of this post. THIS is poetry.

“And now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to sit back and watch it with you.”

kershaw

_________

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And, here’s Part 2 … Fauxetry In Motion.