THE PITCHER
by Robert Francis
His art is eccentricity, his aim
How not to hit the mark he seems to aim at.
His passion how to avoid the obvious,
His technique how to vary the avoidance.
The others throw to be comprehended. He
Throws to be a moment misunderstood.
Yet not too much. Not errant, arrant, wild,
But every seeming aberration willed.
Not to, yet still, still to communicate
Making the batter understand too late.
(From my friend, Lane Denson, in his daily column OUT OF NOWHERE)
That, of course, is the great Cy Young, from a Baseball Card, circa 1911.
Oh, and GO BOSTON RED SOX!!!
3 comments:
What Ann said.
Plus...great poem, Elizabeth. I can't imagine a more artful description of pitching.
Born on the South Shore, raised on the 3rd base line. Worshiped our protector, the green monster and reveled in the TED (who never really liked us) but played in our corner.
Later in life, froze my buns off at Candlestick, but loved it like Fenway. Survived 12 frozen years in Wisconsin, never making it to Wrigley but, always hoping, always hoping for the cubbies 2005 for which Red Sox Nation waited all the years I was alive.
Micky, I'm not sure what this has to do with baseball, but I'm always happy to hear a witness of salvation. God bless you.
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