This is the second of two poems I wrote regarding the decline of Major League baseball in the hearts of many Americans. I first decided to write it during the game's last major labor dispute, so the references to greed might seem especially pertinent. I didn't mention Mel Ott, Harmon Killebrew, Luis Aparicio, Ty Cobb or several others, so look for "Baseball Belongs III" the next time the millionaires and billioniares squabble.

Should we now sing a mourning song,

for the once great American game?

A game that died of greed,

indifference and old age.


The diamond, it seems,

has always belonged

to a simpler time,

of innocence and elegance.


When Say-Hey's glove was

the final resting place of

three-baggers.


When the Splendid Splinter,

and after him Yaz,

Sent the cowhide towering

over The Green Monster.


The days of Iron City,

of the great Clemente's arm,

or Brooksie sweeping up everything at third.

When Pops popped it over the fence,

but only signed autographs for girls.


Now we watch like the Giants watched

Tinker to Evers to Chance.

Or the Yanks on that cool, fair autumn day

when Mazeroski left the yard.


It's sunny, but sad in Boston,

No chance of rain after Spahn and Sain.


Baseball belongs to the days of the Bums,of Jackie and Campy,

the Newc and the Duke.

Listen to the priest,

Keep the Commandments

and say one for Gil Hodges.


Now we weep a bit to think

that this used to be a ballpark,

that Ebbets Field and Polo Grounds

and others like them are ghosts.

If there's to be a wake,

make the "hi" sign

and hoist a Wiedemann's

for there used to be a ballgame,

but it now it belongs to the time of Kodachrome.