Poetry Sunday: Analysis of Baseball

I'm not a big sports fan in general. But there is one game that 

I love, that I have loved since I was twelve years old and that 

is baseball. I love the grace, the balletic quality of the players 

in the field as they go for the ball. I love the twitchiness of the 

batters at the plate as they fiddle with their gloves, adjust their 

helmets, and play for time as they try to figure out what the 

pitcher is going to throw next. I love watching the pitcher and 

catcher collaborate as they work on a plan to get this guy out. I 

love the fact that it is a timeless game; i.e., it's played without a 

clock. The only limiting factor is 27 outs - and sometimes not 

even that is enough. I love the fact that the same game can be 

played by 6'2" Mike Trout and 5'6" (maybe on a good day) Jose 

Altuve and that Jose Altuve can win, proving that size truly 

doesn't matter, except maybe the size of the heart.

I think May Swenson loved baseball, too, and she summed it up 

perfectly in this poem.    

Analysis of Baseball

by May Swenson

It's about
the ball,
the bat,
and the mitt.
Ball hits
bat, or it
hits mitt.
Bat doesn't
hit ball, bat
meets it.
Ball bounces
off bat, flies
air, or thuds
ground (dud)
or it
fits mitt.

Bat waits
for ball
to mate.
Ball hates
to take bat's
bait. Ball
flirts, bat's
late, don't
keep the date.
Ball goes in
(thwack) to mitt,
and goes out
(thwack) back
to mitt.

Ball fits
mitt, but
not all
the time.
Sometimes
ball gets hit
(pow) when bat
meets it,
and sails
to a place
where mitt
has to quit
in disgrace.
That's about
the bases
loaded,
about 40,000
fans exploded.

It's about
the ball,
the bat,
the mitt,
the bases
and the fans.
It's done
on a diamond,
and for fun.
It's about
home, and it's
about run.