Saturday-night poetry slam
Never mind that Albert Pujols’s 12th-inning walk-off shot earned the most melancholy TV play-by-play call in history from Joe Buck (when, exactly, did the son of the greatest broadcaster in history turn into Eeyore?)—it was a fabulous ending to a too-long ballgame.
And as if the homer itself weren’t inspiring enough, I happened to click over to Hardball Talk’s wrap-up of the game, which bore this headline: Albert Pujols swiftly waking, hits walkoff homer to beat Cubs.
Maybe it’s just the English degree and the years of failed attempts to become the U.S. Poet Laureate in my past; maybe it’s the presence of Miguel “Feelings in Black and White” Batista in the bullpen; maybe it’s sheer boredom—but isn’t the first part of that header downright poetic? “Albert Pujols, swiftly waking.” Doesn’t the trochaic tetrameter have a powerful, steady stride that suits El Hombre perfectly? Don’t the repeated W’s subtly reference the results of the last two games against the Cubbies? Don’t the other poetaster brains in the (probably rapidly shrinking) ABOTO readership go immediately to Whitman or Roethke or at least Hiawatha?
Don’t you just know there’s going to be a bad, hastily-written poem in this post?
Albert Pujols, swiftly waking
Albert Pujols, swiftly waking,
shall the hearts of Cubs be breaking:
Albert’s earned his every trochee—
he’s New Busch’s genius loci,
“anapest” to each new rival
now his bat’s in full revival.
Fed a tasty fastball diet,
twice he ushered home The Riot,
thence to be a plunking victim
and provoke a “walk him!” dictum.
Was that all? Was Albert finished?
Nope—nor was his clout diminished.
Witness but the final inning
of today’s display of winning!:
Jeff Samardzija handled matters,
setting down the first two batters—
they were merely mortal creatures;
number 5, though, found the bleachers.
Watch it fly! There’s no mistaking
Albert Pujols, swiftly waking.
Let’s make it a sweep tomorrow, shall we? I’ll be happy to drag out my dactyls for Carpenter if it’ll help.