Nats Baseball: Open Letter of Ire and Robert Creeley’s Baseball

Couple weeks ago I went to a Nats game because a friend said he had tickets.  We arrived, and they told my friend his free tickets aren’t valid on weekend games because apparently playing the dregs of AL Padres isn’t enough torture for Nats fans.  So we bought tickets and turn around: rain starts pouring.  While talking to the incompetent ticket salesman (or maybe highly competent since she coaxed us into buying tickets to see Padres-Nats on a Saturday night), clouds had moved in, and globs of rain poured.

The Ball Game
by Robert Creeley

The one damn time (7th inning)
standing up to get a hot dog someone spills
mustard all over me
.

Let’s wait it out, we said. Let’s go eat some half smokes and drink heavily, we thought. After countlessly checking doppler radar on my friend’s iphone, seeing another storm on its way into the capitol, and watching concession stand after concession stand close up shop, we left.

The conception is
the hit, whacko!
Likewise out of the park

of our own indifferent vulgarity, not
mind you, that one repents even the most visual
satisfaction
.

Early in life the line is straight
made straight
against the grain.

You must know what happened next.  Two guys stepped off the metro, walked to the bar, and what do they see on TV? Fucking 7-1 Nats. No the game wasn’t over, it’s the first fucking inning. I’d like to say I know it’s a record of some sorts, that the Nats haven’t scored 7 in the first since coming to Washington, but I don’t know that (but it sure feels like that’s a record).

Take the case of myself, and why not
since these particulars need
no further impetus,
take me at the age of 13
and for some reason there, no matter the particular
reason.

The only highlight of the night?  Seeing two other guys walk into the bar, holding a free Nats bag that they were giving out at the game, and us going up to them and explaining it all.  Pure schadenfreude? Of Course, but isn’t that what being a Nats fan is all about?

The one damn time (7th inning)
standing up to get a hot dog someone spills
mustard all over me
.

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One response to “Nats Baseball: Open Letter of Ire and Robert Creeley’s Baseball

  1. Pingback: Poem of the Week: The Ball Game | pitchers & poets

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