Sunday Poetry: The Night Game, by Robert Pinsky

The Night Game

Some of us believe
We would have conceived romantic
Love out of our own passions
With no precedents,
Without songs and poetry--
Or have invented poetry and music
As a comb of cells for the honey.

Shaped by ignorance,
A succession of new worlds,
Congruities improvised by
Immigrants or children.

I once thought most people were Italian,
Jewish or Colored.
To be white and called
Something like Ed Ford
Seemed aristocratic,
A rare distinction.

Possibly I believed only gentiles
And blonds could be left-handed.

Already famous
After one year in the majors,
Whitey Ford was drafted by the Army
To play ball in the flannels
Of the Signal Corps, stationed
In Long Branch, New Jersey.

A night game, the silver potion
Of the lights, his pink skin
Shining like a burn.

Never a player
I liked or hated: a Yankee,
A mere success.

But white the chalked-off lines
In the grass, white and green
The immaculate uniform,
And white the unpigmented
Halo of his hair
When he shifted his cap:

So ordinary and distinct,
So close up, that I felt
As if I could have made him up,
Imagined him as I imagined

The ball, a scintilla
High in the black backdrop
Of the sky. Tight red stitches.
Rawlings. The bleached

Horsehide white: the color

Of nothing. Color of the past
And of the future, of the movie screen
At rest and of blank paper.

"I could have." The mind. The black
Backdrop, the white
Fly picked out by the towering
Lights. A few years later

On a blanket in the grass
By the same river
A girl and I came into
Being together
To the faint muttering
Of unthinkable
Troubadours and radios
.

The emerald
Theater, the night.
Another time,
I devised a left-hander
Even more gifted
Than Whitey Ford: A Dodger.
People were amazed by him.
Once, when he was young,
He refused to pitch on Yom Kippur.

by Robert Pinsky
________________________________________

There is so much to love in this poem - so much to engage people of all interests. It's a wonder this poem is not an icon of our world - quoted like Caddy Shack, Animal House or Monty Python by people in all stations. It touches upon romantic love, the importance of success, and, most importantly, baseball.

The poem begins with a slap in the face - it points out the absurdity of thinking that our approach to romantic love could be devised out of whole cloth. We owe so much of what we think and how we behave to precedent - to what society tells and shows us to be the ideal. Poetry, courtly love, even music - we think of these things as somehow inherent in the human condition. Instead, they are human traditions - an accident of history, and an invention of generations.

And then it shifts its attention to Whitey Ford - a dominating pitcher who played in an era recent enough that many readers could remember him. (I never saw him, but he was younger than my mother.) Whitey becomes a monument of caucasianism in the hands of Pinksy, and his overwhelming whiteness becomes a foil to life itself. White is the color of blank paper, while the speaker rolls in the grass with a girl, accompanied by the songs of the troubadors who helped establish the traditions of romantic love.

But tradition and academic discussion of courtly traditions pale in the bright light of baseball. As I write this, the Yankees lead the Phillies in the World Series. Pinsky shows a healthy dose of anti-Yankee sentiment with his dismissal of Ford -

Never a player
I liked or hated: a Yankee,
A mere success

A Yankee - a mere success? In those three lines, Pinsky captures the "so what?" attitude so many of us have toward the Yankees. Given the size of their payroll, given the tradition of Yankee baseball, given the paid-for expectations of the Yankee machine, there is a certain lack of drama in Yankee success.

Pinsky speaks against the elite. In his mind, he invents a Jewish version of Whitey Ford, who refused to play on Yom Kippur (a subtle reference to Hank Greenberg - not a pitcher, and not a Dodger, but a Jew who starred for the Detroit Tigers and refused to play during on Yom Kippur, even though his team was in a pennant race). His feat of imagination had already been loosely created in reality, just as his romantic conquest had been anticipated by generations of courtly lovers.

It's wonderful to find baseball in poetry. It's wonderful to find poetry in baseball. Somehow, having the Yankees in the World Series seems kind of reassuringly traditional.

UPDATE: I'm horrified! The reference to the Jewish left-handed Dodger who refused to play on Yom Kippur was not a reference to Hank Greenberg, it was a reference the amazing Sandy Koufax, a Jewish left-handed Dodger who refused to play on Yom Kippur. Pinsky even served as the voice on a book on tape version of a biography of Sandy Koufax.

The Case Against Pete Rose

Over on Facebook, a friend has started a discussion of whether Pete Rose should be allowed into the Baseball Hall of Fame. In this age of chemically-enhanced, steroid-juiced heroes, the simple act of placing bets in favor of your own team seems simple and understandable. Why should Pete Rose be singled out for making a phone call to a bookie while other major leaguers were shooting up?

So far, I'm the only vote against Pete Rose in my friend's informal survey.

Let me be clear. There can't be any legitimate argument about whether Pete Rose's baseball playing deserves the honor. It does. His hitting, his longevity, his versatility and, most of all, his hustle made him a true great. His play at the plate in the 1973 All Star game remains one of my favorite baseball illustrations of toughness and determination.

But he bet on the Reds. Strikes one, two, and three. He's out.

I've only been in a couple MLB clubhouses. Besides benches and lockers, there's one other thing always in them, though, and I would find it in every single clubhouse in Major League Baseball. Rule 21. "Any player, umpire, or club or league official or employee, who shall bet any sum whatsoever upon any baseball game in connection with which the bettor has a duty to perform shall be declared permanently ineligible."

Pete Rose has admitted that he violated that rule. He lied about it for years, denying it at every turn, but I'm not here to judge the moral worth of the guy - only whether he has a legitimate claim that he should reside in the Hall of Fame after he violated the most prominent, crystal clear rule of the sport.

Everything else you or I can say about the situation is simply argument over details. Pete Rose supporters can point to his performance as a player, and his detractors can point to his decades of lying about his betting, and his time in jail for tax evasion (ironically, in the hometown of the catcher he demolished at the plate). Neither is relevant. We can argue about whether the penalty for betting on your own games is too harsh, but it is what it is (and, in my opinion, what it should be).

I appreciate the way that "Charlie Hustle" played baseball. He was one of the greatest. But he violated the rule posted on every clubhouse door. He should not be allowed to reside in the Hall of Fame.

All-Star Game - Good Clean Summer Fun

I tend to be a grumpy purist when it comes to baseball. I loathe the designated hitter, and resent the overuse of relief pitchers. Cupped bats seem kind of new-fangled, and whenever people talk about aluminum bats in MLB, my voiced concern about safety is a mask for my true objection, which is aesthetic.

My natural tendency is to dislike the All-Star game. It's a media-hyped, personality-focused baseball carnival interrupting the mid-summer rhythm of streaks, road trips and mounting statistics. It's hardly even real baseball, with managers trotting substitutions in and out of the game, which is itself a mere follow-up to the 10-out abominable freak show which is the Home Run Derby. And it doesn't help that my preferred league is on a decade-plus losing streak.

Grumble, grumble, grumble - the fussy old conservative in me feels the bile rise.

But, gosh darn it, the All-Star Game was a blast last night.

Maybe it's a carnival, but there is something awesome about seeing those lineups packed with the best of the game. Maybe it's a freak show, but I can't help but feel joy at Prince Fielder knocking home runs over the crowd of kids in the outfield. And maybe the American League gets home field advantage on the first game of the World Series every year, but they do it by bringing a roster that always finds a way to win.

I thoroughly enjoyed last night's game, and look forward to Kansas City hosting the game in 2012. I hope Zack Grienke is still a Royal, and that he gets the hometown love that Mr. Pujols got last night. I hope the media descends on our city, and the airwaves are choked with reminiscing '85 Royals and the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum.

I hope I get a seat, and, if I do, I'll be cheering for a night of great baseball, and loving every minute of it.

Living Like Royalty

Through an unlikely but fortunate string of events, I wound up with 5 tickets to yesterday's Royals-Tampa Bay baseball game. But not just any seats - Crown seats. A few yards behind the homeplate umpire, buffet before the game, all you care to consume food and beverage during the game, brought to you by waitstaff.

Gold parking pass that put us between the two stadiums.

A 6-1 victory over Tampa Bay.

Hot weather, but plenty of beer and ice water to keep comfortable.

Most importantly, 4 good friends to share the game with.

The Crown seats are amazing, and I hope, if you're a baseball fan, you get to sit in them someday. Seeing the game with your eyes at the same level as the players' is really something special. I'm not sure I would ever pay the $185 face value, but it was nice to live like royalty yesterday.

Ridiculous

I'm a pretty smart guy, with a good set of priorities.

But it is ridiculous, perhaps even disturbing, how happy it makes me to see the Cardinals come from behind to beat the Cubs in the 9th. It makes me happier than it ought to.

Setting Benchmarks - How Many can the Royals Lose

The Royals have lost 10 in a row - a pretty impressive achievement of futility for a team that started the season with a sweep of the Tigers.

But let's not get too excited . . .

A few short years ago, the 2005 Royals managed to piece together a 19-game losing streak, and (seriously) toasted themselves with champagne when they completed the streak.

Lots of teams set their goal at winning 100 games. The Royals do, too, but they are content to take a couple years reaching that goal.

Play Ball!! Quarterly Campaign Finance Reports Time!

Political geeks like me love campaign finance reports. A baseball box score reveals secrets of strategy, individual performances, and key statistics, but only a tiny portion of the success of the season. Similarly, quarterly campaign finance reports provide enough hard facts to fuel gossip and speculation, but only a tiny part of what it takes to have a successful election season.

In the 44th District, for example, Jason Kander once again defeated Amy Coffman in an extremely close contest, continuing his sweep of the series. (Both defeated Mary Cosgrove Spence, who appears to be a shoo-in for Rookie of the year, but thus far has not shown much potential for the play-offs.) It was a tight battle, though, with Jason Kander edging Coffman out $16,110.15 to $15,075.00.

One troubling sign for the Coffman team is that they had to resort to their bullpen awfully early. As a lobbyist, Coffman was obviously going to resort to her lobbyist friends and their easy cash sooner or later, but I, for one, didn't expect her to call up the farm team in Jefferson City as early as March. But there it is - including campaign funds from the lobbyist dream team of school voucher flamethrowers, Flotron & McIntosh, LLC. Honestly, that is like throwing spit balls in a Democratic primary, but maybe she felt like she had to pull out a late-inning miracle.

Another curve ball from the Coffman side was a purchase of T-shirts from non-union CheapesTees.com, in Burlingame, California. Her website (which is a very nice one, by the way, now that it's up), claims that

I think we can agree that personal security begins with stable, well paying jobs for Kansas City’s working people. A healthy economy, strong labor unions and a vibrant business environment help families reach their economic and professional goals.

I know I agree, but it appears that some may be a little shaky on that one.

All told, it's only one box score, and this week's stats don't tell us what's going to happen in the World Series. The rookie could catch fire. Any of the teams could commit a crucial balk. The umpire could toss someone out for throwing bean balls, though all sides seem to be pitching strikes at this stage. Amy Coffman has attracted an impressive group of fans, including the current officeholder, and my favorite City Councilwoman.

To carry the analogy one final step, in this local race with three fine candidates, the ultimate winner may be decided by which one takes the most walks - door to door.

Foul Ball Fairness

Ancillary Adams reminisces about his appreciation of Rickey Henderson, but the story which provoked it raises a serious issue.

Be forewarned, little kids. If I catch a foul ball at a baseball game, I'm keeping it. I've wanted to do that since I was a little kid myself. When I see little kids going into the stadium with baseball gloves, I recall the disappointment and embarrassment I felt when one of my older friends told me it wasn't "cool" to bring my glove in anymore.

I've never caught one - I've never even come close. (When Sam was a little boy, a screaming line drive missed him by inches at a minor league park in Utica, NY, but I didn't even see it coming.) So, if I ever catch one, it will satisfy a wish I've carried inside me longer than I can remember. And if you come up to me with sad eyes and a baseball glove, don't expect me to put the ball in your glove. It ain't gonna happen.

Cards are On TV Tonight

I bleed Cardinals red.

In other news, there will be people selling newspapers tomorrow, and the money all goes to help kids. Go ahead, buy one or two, and pay what you can afford. Oh, and don't bother looking away and refusing to make eye contact if you don't want to buy one. Really, it's alright. Smile. Baseball season has opened.