poppetawoppet

Take me out to the ball game

I was eleven, and had chosen the Reds as my baseball team
(as they were closest to my new hometown.)
My father got tickets through work—
green seats, behind home plate.

Take me out to the crowd

I don’t remember how full the stadium was,
just going to fast down the back roads to Cincinnati.
The only other person that mattered in the crowd was him anyway.

Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack

We ate coney dogs (mine without chili,
Since at the time I hated beans.)
I don’t remember what he drank.
I had an enormous Sprite.

I don’t care if I never get back

Twenty-four years later,
it's the only baseball game I’ve attended.
The stadium has changed,
the players I saw have retired,
and my dad is no longer here.

Let me root, root, root for the home team/If they don’t win it’s a shame

The Reds won 10-3.
I decided the catcher (Eddie Taubensee) was my favorite player.
They played the Phillies—
I still have the ticket.

For it’s one, two three strikes you’re out/at the old ball game.

I tell myself I’ll go again one day, but
I lost interest in following the sport my senior year in high school.
I still root for the team, but it’s not really important to me.
I wish I could have taken him to a game once—
Driving the speed limit down I-75,
Buying overpriced food and
not being able to see anything from the nosebleed seats.
I wish I could remember that day better:
Did I thank him?
Did I hug him?
Did we talk much at all?
He and I are (were) silent sort of people, so I doubt there was much conversation.

Maybe I’ll go this year.
Have a beer for him.
Find a new favorite player.
Speed--
just a little.