(5.27 No.48 — 162 Baseball Poems 2015)

By Steve Hermanos

What’s that you say, soccer?
Your dudes are being indicted?
Snagged in a posh Swiss resort?
(2000 count threads,
Radiant heated bathroom floors)
Flown to Brooklyn?
(Not so posh);

Say it ain’t so, Joe!
No, that’s our sport, baseball,
When a band of 1919 White Sox
Conspired with gamblers to lose games,
The World Series,
To the Cincinnati Reds;

Yes, we have soiled ourselves too,
Messed with the game as it’s played on the field,
Its runs scored or not scored;


This disease you got, soccer,
Seems to be about things peripheral
To the field of play,
Seems to be about stadiums and sponsors
And host cities and countries,
Votes for sale,
Kicked back expertly,
To muckety mucks,
Not the guys chasing
The inflated ball;

But with the indictments,
Perhaps we’ll see
How far the stains
If your rectangles of grass, too,
Are percolating
With slime.

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