I think I'm going start posting all the poems I submit to my workshop class, then talk about the feedback and why it was or wasn't working for me and my peers.

How the Old Schoolers Saved the Game

It was after we stopped history

and Montreal had began to crumble.

After greed fought greed, forgetting

what it all was for. Too many seats

were empty. So number 8 turned two

and came down hard,

and after games, shook every hand

and signed every ball.

He charged hard, with the best of them,

and passed the iron horse.

A bulldog, stood on the mound

with his glasses and gut, looking

as if he could easily be chucking

beers in the stands instead.

He grew up on naval bases, never

losing balls overboard.

He escaped the ivy, spurned the

pinstripes and joined two aces to

go onto win a ring.

The Paul Bunyan of the arch and the leaping Dominican

distracted us from slick Willy, and

had us all look the other way, because, well,

innocence can take your breath away.  

And two sons, of two fathers, rose.

One became a prince, another a villain.

The villain grew up reading his father’s

hate mail. The mailman carried heavy bags.

The prince lost his legs, the villain kept

stealing, kept hitting. He went on to

shatter records, and made us look at ourselves.

And the game that has always

been the same continued to be. 

I knew for this poem, as soon as I even thought about it, that anyone who doesn't know anything about baseball would be lost. Even for those who know a little, it would still be completely over their heads. I need to get out of the habit of doing this. Only one kid in the class clearly broke the key, but he didn't return his marked up(if it was) copy of my poem. I think i'm going to confront him next class. He even was wearing a Montreal Expos hat, which is the reference in the second line. 

Overall, I was hoping that people would enjoy it even if it was completely over their heads. In the workshop, they seemed hesitant and my professor defended them. I expect a lot, too much, out of my readers and it is one of weaknesses. They still had some kind words, and after reading their marked up copies, they seemed to generally enjoy it, even without understanding it. 

Well do you want the reveal? Okay. The poem was intended to be about how baseball recovered after the strike of '94. That first stanza should be pretty clear is one knows who wore number 8, and passed Lou Gehrig, the iron horse, in games consequently played. The first two lines though, relate to the near tragedies that happened because of the strike: Kirby Puckett's seasons being cut short and thus ending his bid at being the first player since Ted Williams to hit .400. The other is about the Montreal Expos seasons being cut short as well. They were in first place, and had a good chance of finishing the season and making the playoffs, but the strike put a halt to that. They never recovered: they never got the stadium they needed built, they lost key players to free agency and spent the next several years in last place before collapsing and moving to D.C. 

The second stanza is about possibly the greatest pitcher ever: Greg Maddux. Looking at the poem now, why would any reader need to know that Maddux grew up on naval bases? Or is it also necessary to tell that he rejected going to the Yankees(pinstripes) after leaving the Cubs (ivy)? Probably not. I should have concentrated on playing up his body type, but more importantly his style of pitching, and how he helped Atlanta become the powerhouse it was. 

The Paul Bunyan of the Arch (McGwire) and the leaping Dominican (Sosa) race (the first breaking of Maris' record of 61 homers) did help the country be distracted from slick Willy (President Clinton and the affair with Monica L.). "Innocence is beautiful" (Pedro Martinez) is were 'innocence can take your breath away' comes from. Yes it is clichéd, but looking back at the race, McGwire was caught with steroids at that time and it was dismissed. Why? Because home runs are exciting to see. Also, Major League Baseball, or the monstrosity that is Bud Selig, hadn't yet banned steroids, even though every other major league sport had. So, McGwire was in the clear. Even at that age, I was a Sox fan, but I had a cut out collage of Sosa and McGwire. I remember watching both break Maris' record, and I was happy for them both. Baseball was as popular as it ever was, and for once the game seemed to be changing more signifcantly then ever before. Home runs hit were at numbers never seen and for almost a decade the games changed offensively. Looking back, certain pitchers were "juiced" as well, but I will not go down this road today. 

The last stanza is about Ken Griffery Jr. (the prince) and Barry Bonds (the villain). Both were the sons of former major leaguers. Sadly though, tragedy, if you want to call it that, struck both players. For Griffey, it was injuries that ruined the second half of his career. For Bonds though, it was his childhood. His father Bobby Bonds received many death threats and racist, hateful letters. He grew up watching his father be a side kick to Willie Mays, and was taught growing up to not trust anyone. He also grew up wanting to be the best player to ever play the game. Drafted a year out of college, he was in the big leagues almost a year later. He went onto win a few MVPs, golden gloves and was a great base stealer as well. This was all before Sosa and McGwire had broke Maris' home run record. Before the '98 season, Bonds had almost 420 steals and 375 home runs. Those are arguably Hall of Fame numbers right there. It was after Sosa and McGwire broke the record (and Bonds hit 37 home runs, stole 28 bases, knocked in 122 and hit .303 that season) and Bonds got little attention, finished 8th in MVP voting, and well, the rest is history. I like to paint players, or people, not just as good or evil, Bonds included.

I just wrote a solid four paragraphs on my poem, so I think it is deeper than it should be. Also, I seem to contradict and not even answer my title. Bonds, McGwire and Sosa didn't save the game; they actually but the game in serious jeopardy. I also don't write about how the game got back to the way it used to be. Players like Ichiro and Derek Jeter are just as old school as Maddux and Ripken. Originally I intended the poem to be just about how Cal Ripken saved the game. But, then it led into Maddux, which looking back, doesn't fit in. After that it spiraled into Sosa, McGwire and Bonds. Maybe I can write a poem about how America's past time can get the country through its darkest times (Clinton scandal, all the way up to post 9-11). It would contrast earlier generations of ball players actually joining the war (Ted Williams), but in a just important way, help the country's moral. In all honesty, football relating to the country would work just as well too (Pat Tillman enlisting to the Saints helping New Orleans recover). 

To best understand this poem or understand where the inspiration came from, or more accutarely summarizes, watch Ken Burn's The 10th Inning.  God, I love baseball. And Ken Burns.