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.