OUTFIELDER’S LAMENT 

Oh dear…!!!  

My fault

My bad

It was a ball

I maybe shoulda’…

Kinda coulda….

Probably woulda........ had…  

If only…..well…you know..  

We had a lot

Of rain today

So I wasn’t sure

We would even play   

My team was short

And I was late

So stretching out

Had to wait  

This is not

An excuse

But I had no time

To get loose   

Where I was playing

Was soaking wet

And our pitcher pitched

Before I was set.  

The outfield grass

Had not been cut

And I nearly fell

On my you-know-what

I am not sure

How this fits in

But our shortstop did

Move me in   

The way the wind was blowing

There was no way of anyone knowing

Where the heck

The ball was going   

That ball was by me

In nothing flat

I think he used

An illegal bat. 

When I reached

The warning track

I think I tweaked

My sore ole back   

I know I heard

Someone shout

“There’s the fence

So watch out.”   

I cannot tell

You a lie

I think the sun

Got in my eye   

I lost the ball

In the sun

And I had

A long way to run   

The ball was bouncing

Up and down

And somehow I

Got turned around   

There were no clouds

And the sky was high

I pulled a muscle

In my thigh   

But I will not dodge

Responsibility

I know that ball

was kinda sorta hit to me   

And I’m not trying to

beat the rap

But I think that ball

Mighta’ hit the gap.  

I heard my buddy Willie

Say “Hey, I got it.”

Else I’m sure I  

Woulda' caught it   

I am secure

Enough to say

One of us

Shoulda’ made that play   

I know there is

No “I” in me

It’s all about

Team chemistry.   

Never make

An alibi

Is the motto

I live by   

Oh, the wind and the rain

And the warning track,

The sun, the sky

And my sore old’ back   

Our pitcher, our catcher,

And my outfield mate

The fence, the grass,

And me getting there late  

Except for little

Things like this

That’s a ball

I’ll never miss.  

Mike Perry 2010   --------------------------------------------------------------------------

---------The following short poems is one of my all time favorites.  It was written by George Ellard in the 1800's.

We used no mattress on our hands, 

No cage upon our face

We stood right up and caught the ball

With courage and with grace.

Mr Ellard was a member of the undefeated 1869 Cincinnati Red Stockings. In his early baseball poem, Mr. Ellard refers to the fact that catchers in baseball used neither a glove nor a facemask. Playing catcher required courage and talent. The game of slow pitch softball we play today also requires courage and talent..especially if you are a pitcher.Team Geritol dedicates their version of  Mr. Ellard's poem to Chief James, who in his previous lifetime, pitched. Then along came Zilla and The Chief, with a sigh of relief, moved behind the plate. To honor those early days of reluctant courage,...we dedicate this borrowed adaptation of Mr. Ellard's classic. 

A cup upon his family jewels    

And pads protecting both his shins     

He pitched that ball and backed right up   

To where the outfield grass begins. 

(Glovedad 2007)   ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

The following poem is written with Clement Clark Moore’s classic Christmas poem, “T’was The Night Before Christmas” as a backdrop. Mr. Moore wrote his poem in 1822. I was in the 3rd grade that year.This poem is about the 2006 Thompson/Corr Tournament. It (like everything else in the newsletter) is based on true happenings. Though these verses contain some negativity, please know, that this weekend and the phenomenal effort put in by the ballplayers remain one of my fondest-ever softball memories. It was indeed a save of miraculous proportions. For the second year in a row, the UIC had declared the tournament a rainout. It was the authoritarian manner in which it was done that bothered me most. We asked him to reconsider, he did and for that I am thankful. My thanks also to the umpires. There would be no games without them. There is more to this story than is appropriate to write. I will leave it with that.

T’WAS THE NIGHT BEFORE THE THOMPSON/CORR TOURNEY

T’was the night before the Thompson/Corr tourney,

When all thro the town,

The softball ruining rain, had started coming down.

The fields were all prepped, the baselines chalked with care,

In hope that tomorrow, the teams would be there.

My children were nestled, all snug in their bed.

While visions of mud puddles, danced in my head.

And Mamma with her book, and I with my mitt,

Fell asleep that night, praying the rain would quit.

When out on the lawn, there arose such a splatter,

I sprang from my bed, to see what was the matter.

Away to the window, I flew like a flash,

To see the newspaper boy, drive off with a splash.

When finally come morning, the rain was still falling,

I drove to the fields, and felt like bawling.

On first base, on second, on third, and the mound,

Huge puddles of water, were all to be found.

I said to myself, please say it ain’t so.

Could this be happening, two years in a row?

I lifted my head, to see the UIC come near,

What he had to say, I wanted not to hear.

He was chubby and plump, quite an unjolly old elf.

I grimaced when I saw him, and mumbled to myself.

The look in his eyes, and the rain on his head,

Gave me cause to know, I had something to dread.

He was dressed all in blue, from his hat to his shoe.

His clothes were all wet, and so was his cigarette.

His voice was a distinctive, throaty old growl,

His cheeks were not merry, he was wearing a scowl.

A group of umpires, stood at his back.

He looked like a cop, expecting some flak.

He said, he was the decider, and he has decided to say,

These fields are too wet, so forget it, no way.

He said he is the boss; it is his call to make,

These fields are underwater, this place is a lake.

I don’t care if you have teams, from out of state,

This tournament is rained out, so accept your fate.

And then in a twinkling, I heard a ballplayer say,

“These fields are not that bad, I think we can play.”

With teams from Utah, Montana, and Idaho,

If we all pitched in, we could make this thing go.

So now what the heck, was I supposed to do?

Blue had just declared, the tourney was through.

What if what I say, doesn’t come out right?

All hope is lost, if Blue stays on the fight  

I remembered my training, and it shed some light,

When dealing with someone, who goes on the fight.

Even though they may bait you, you don’t have to bite.

To settle them down, calmly say they are right.

So I said, you are the boss, I completely agree.

And the fields are all wet, that is plain to see.

But I am wondering if you, could just give us a chance,

Please give us one hour, and then make your stance.

He let out a sigh, and he looked at me hard.

He’d expected an argument, I’d caught him off-guard.

He said, “I’ll give you one hour, to see what you can do,

But if the fields are not ready, this tourney is through.

The task at hand, was daunting at best.

My belief in miracles, was put to the test.

When what to my wondering, eyes should appear,

But a volunteer grounds-crew, with rain clearing gear.

With wheelbarrows and pumps, and shovels and rakes,

I said to myself, this crew has what it takes.

More rapid than ever, these ballplayers toiled,

Puddle by puddle, the rainout was spoiled.

They rolled up the sleeves, of their softball shirt.

They filled their buckets and wheelbarrows, with water and dirt.

They pumped, they dug and they raked and it gives me goose bumps to say,

By the end of the hour, field five was ready to play.

The rain clouds even parted, and the sun peeked through.

It smiled and said, I think I will help too.

I will dry out the fields, I will warm up the air.

A miracle I see, is happening down there.

The grumpy old ump, soon began to believe.

He said it was good, the teams didn’t leave.

He said by God, I think that today,

We’re gonna have softball, for people to play.

He pulled out his lawn chair, and sat himself down.

A grizzled old smile, replaced his, don’t-mess-with-me frown.

He barked “Batter-up.” Oh what a sweet call.

Then he said, “Let’s play ball.”  To one all.

Now, I know a whole lotta players, had a whole lotta fun.

And I do believe; that what is done is done

But I still think I’ll ask Santa, and all of his reindeer,

.If they will bring me a new U.IC. next year.…………………

.the end…………………..   

Mike Perry...2006 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

WHEN THE PHONE STOPS RINGING    

As My phone stopped ringing                                                                                                              

The weeks before the tournament                                                                                                        

As they told me their team was full

I knew what they really meant. 

As my legs slowed down                                                                     

As my bat  lost it’s pop

As I began to hit the cutoff man

On the first hop  

As I thought about softball

A game I love to play

I made a fine decision

On that clear thinking day     

Carefully and purposefully                                                                                                                       

I picked up the phone                                                                                                                         

slowly but surely                                                                                                                          

 Built a team of my own. 

It took several years

To put the pieces all in place

But the Softball Gods rewarded me

A team with talent and with grace  

So here I am in my 60's

With a Dream come true

I have softball security

With seasons to look forward to.  

My phone even rings again

Nice guys call to say

If you ever need a guy

I would sure like to play.  

The lesson softball taught me

Came through loud and clear

Believe in yourself, and say

There are no victims here  

Never let your passions

Leave you behind

Some dreams come to you

Some you have to go and find.    

Mike Perry..2009