(7.03 No.67 — 162 Baseball Poems 2015)

By Steve Hermanos

In a friendly manner,
Zack Hample pats the shoulder,
Of Alex Rodriguez;

Zack, whom I met,
At Argosy Books on 59th Street,
where he works,
(next to the Yankee Clubhouse Store),
Who’s written great books
About standing in the bleachers
And snagging home runs,
About the history of that spherical thing
We call a baseball,
Who’s more of a baseball nut,
I must admit,
Than I;

With whom Mrs. L., Little L., and I
Rode the subway after a Yankee game last summer,

And he opened his shoulder bag,
showed Little L.
4 baseballs,
Fresh from the bats of Yankees and Astros,
Making Little L.’s eyes bug,
Mine too;

Zack scouts the players,
The pitchers,
Stands in the stands where he thinks the ball is going,
And between batting practice,
And real games,
He’s snagged 7,000 baseballs;

Little L. has said,
“When I grow up,
I want to do what Zack does!”

So Zack, out in the right field bleachers,
Snagged A-Rod’s 3000th hit,
A homer to Zack;

And after two weeks of negotiation,
With $150K going to charity,
And Zack getting free bleacher tickets from the Yankees,
Hopefully for eternity,
Zack, in the name of all of us fanatics,
hands the home run/3000th hit baseball to
one of the greatest players/scoundrels
Of all time, Alex Rodriguez;

Each team, every year,
Should have a news conference,
With just two people:
their richest player,
their superfan.

—end of poem

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