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From the vault

Hearing of the recent death of Hall of Fame manager White Herzog (who managed the Cards in the 1985 World Series), I thought of this poem of mine from the same year:


Game 4, American League Championship Series, October 12, 1985

Bases loaded no outs & pitching on a mere 2 days rest

Dave Stieb looks so desperate I chew my fingers as tho

at a Stephen King movie, I can't watch alone!

so call Steve, who's sleeping

but amazingly enough Marion has the game on

not however imagining poor Dave

is as hounded as he looks to me

talk turns to tomorrow's reading

—oh man he just walked in a run—

I haven't really been watching you understand

typing all day

nothing like a reading to burrow for poems

Steve's a little depressed, Marion says,

he has to finish

all his poems

Yeah, I agree, I have about a million works

that're terrific till late innings then stop short

I'm getting a stomachache

watching Stieb claw around for help

And so is born another million-dollar scheme

The Relief Poet!

who'll come in at the end with a trick pitch

witty poignant heat

& finish off your poem     tidy up your poem

getting credit for a save of course

Then I remember for Marion

the incredibly short shortstop

the Royals used to have was Freddie Patek

& we 2 happy geniuses hang up

as Tom Henke comes in to get the inning's last out.

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