Baseball Poem

Hot Stove

by Two Finger Carney

Before television
People talked
And when the snows came
People talked near the hot stove

Smell the bread baking
And wonder if the Babe
Really did call that homer

Pull off your wet boots
Prop up your feet so your soles
Are toasting
And wonder how Cobb would do

Against Carl Hubbell
Or how your favorite team
Of the past
Might fare next spring

If they could be resurrected
Or coaxed out of that Iowa cornfield
Sip some hot cocoa with marshmallows
Invite the kids to join in

Was it better when the gloves were small
Or is that just nostalgia?
For your own youth?
Could Canseco have started

For the '27 Yankees
And should games in which
The first hit is yielded in the 10th
Count as a no-hitter?

Steer clear of religion and politics
And players' salaries
And the afternoon can go on
Until sundown

Was the best-pitched game
The double no-no by Vaughn and Toney
Or Walsh's 1-0 loss to Joss' perfecto / Or the iron man duel between Burdette and Haddix?
And how come no one hits .400 any more?

The stoves are in junk yards or museums now, forever cool
But the questions live on
Talking baseball
Beats most things on TV
That is
When there's no game to watch