The Baseball Fan’s Tale

The Baseball Fan’s Tale- in the style of Geoffrey Chaucer

‘Twas Cold! A frost filled winter night,

watching men with sticks slash with all their might-

His thumb flicks north and north again,

his quest for springtime goes unavenged-

One more flick yields an orange orb,

and men in shorts! Though played indoors-

The scrape of skis, or sleds in snow,

a pig skin passed to and fro-

All these things the fan does see,

On a winter’s night in front of his TV


He sits in wait, remote in hand,

to see the ice melt from the land-

So cold and bleak, he prays for sun,

his sanity may come undone-

Bring ivy, grass and red dirt clay!

He does implore but gods nor groundhogs will obey-

To wait for spring, a thankless chore,

with nothing to watch, though channels galore-


The fan walks his dog, he goes to the gym

He learns to cook, he learns to swim-

To pass the time while he waits for spring,

but these fads do pass as do most things-

He heads for his stool, a comfortable spot

he’s been here before, he’s waited a lot-

He’ll sit and wait, with drink in hand,

months in and out if that’s the plan-

He’s been sadly sipping since the fall

since late October until he hears “Play Ball!”


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