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ODES & TOADS: THIRTEEN BASEBALL ACROSTICS

LEE FOUST
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Anarchistic, mustachioed, white-shod, swingin’
Team of my boyhood,
Hella representin’ our
Lighthearted Oaktown of summertime sun--
Erupting in cheer at Hatteberg’s shot:
Twenty fucking victories
In a row, doing what no baseball
Club has ever done before or
Since—hiring a genius, that is.


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Gad, what an awful excuse for a team:
International League rejects
And Silicon V. tech bro’ darlings--
Nonetheless losers of more World Series’
Than any other club, outclassed
Suburban shills; it used to take a Candlestick in the fog to find ‘em.

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Oh, how I wish
Reliably inoffensive Baltimore
Insisted on being the only ballplayers in
Orange and black. A
Lotta bird-named teams
Eat crow at season’s end,
Sliding into third place once again.


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Dodging streetcars in LA?
Oh, dem bums is always blue
Down by the old slaughterhouse.
Goin’ west, where the SoCal sky
Enhances their unees.
Regionalism betrayed, but it’s
Still hard to sing ill of Jackie’s courageous club.
            (‘cept maybe for Lasorda-- I hear he’s a jerk.)


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All our nightmares come true.
‘Nother real estate owner
Giving away millions to aging sluggers with
Elongated careers and neckless wonders.
Los Angeles, you wish, Anaheim.
Scioscia, too, is such an ass.


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Rawhide team of too many colors, it’s
Always a slugfest in Arlington,
Never a pitchers’ duel.
Game after game in gale-force winds
Eminent sluggers try to salvage
Rookie pitchers. They always
Swoon in August. It’s just too hot in that endless
                                     parking lot.


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Red, the commie color
Embraced by a machine of short-haired
Decent young men (‘cept for one) and Nazi-loving Marge
Schott—shame on her.


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Best name in baseball, it
Reminds us of our German heritage,
Eschewing 'Sconi milk and cheese;
Where Barney slides into a giant mug
Every time the home team homers, his
Rear-end surely sore when Hammerin’ Hank
Stepped to the plate there, those last two years.

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Riled up over nuttin’
Every goddamned year
“Death to the Yankees!”
so goes the cheer,
over-obsessed Sox fans:
Xanax and mucho Milwaukee beer.


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Yeah, we had to hear way too much
About old Derek the klutz Jeter;
Nothing else seemed to matter.
Kinda got my goat, the worst fielding shortstop
Ever paraded around like
Elizabeth Taylor in the tabloids.
Statistics don’t lie, Joe Morgan.


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Meet Mookie’s Mets
(Enclitic for Metropolitans),
The other guys in New York,
Suturing the wound of West Coast abandonment.


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Clearly the best of the
Aviary teams, perching
Red and proud on a BB bat,
Doin' whatever it is they do, over there
In that other,
National League--
Always walking the bases
Loaded to get to the pitcher.
So excruciatingly slow I have to get up for another beer.

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Now, some say baseball
Actually reflects American history--
This may well be true.
I noticed that when the Expos
Outlived their Canadian welcome, the
Nat’s eschewed to become “Senators” (thrice removed)
And found a suitable populist replacement.
Let’s hear it for our millennial Washingtonians; seems they know
“Senator” ’s since become a dirty word.
Header art by T. Guzzio. Original image via MLB.com

CONNECT WITH LEE:

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East Bay native Lee Foust studied creative writing at San Francisco State. Abandoning both the city and his studies, he traveled to Europe--a novel idea in his head--and fell in love with the city of Rome. Later, he studied in Florence and NYC, obtained a Ph.D., wed a well-known rock critic, and co-edited Resister magazine. Washing again upon Tuscan shores, Lee now teaches Literature and Creative Writing for various US universities in Italy, writes a literary column for The Florence Newspaper, and recites his own works, with and without banging a drum, to anyone who’ll listen. Foust’s fiction, poetry, and essays have appeared in magazines and newspapers in the USA, Australia, Canada, and Italy. He also wrote the “Crass” entry for the Spin Alternative Record Guide because no rock critic would touch it. In 2013 he published Sojourner, a collection of poetry and prose about the people and places Lee has encountered during his twenty-five years of travel. His latest book, Poison and Antidote: Bohemian Stories, was published in May. Learn more about Lee via his website, keep up with him through his blog, and follow him on Twitter and Facebook. You can also hear Lee on Soundcloud.


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ISSN 2378-5268
  • NOTES FROM THE OVERGROUND
  • MY COVID-19 SOUNDTRACK
  • ABOUT PC
  • PAST ISSUES