It was a beautiful day in Southern California,
Falling upon my birthday for the 68th time.
Yet who would have guessed , that it would become historic,
As Shohei Otani gave the ultimate performance, sublime.
It was an honor to bear witness to his greatness,
Where his multiple talents were on display.
While he pitched himself to 6 shut-out innings,
And hit 3 home runs, in as many at bats along the way.
This will most likely be written in the record books,
As the greatest, individual performance of all-time.
When a mythical unicorn came up on a baseball diamond,
To single-handedly defeat those brewing up our national pastime.
I will accept this as a birthday gift to memory,
When the baseball God's gave excellence a spot to play.
So while it's been etched deeply in my mind and consciousness,
I'll always recall that it happened on my 68th birthday.
When it came to love
I had no real plan
I know I wanted to connect in an intimate way
with experimentation and playfulness
I was short on experience
there was a pandemic
I’d had few ‘at-bats’
that’s a sports metaphor
Much of it seemed surreal and abstract
like we’d entered another realm of everyday places
there was a subtle unpredictability
that was unfiltered, instinctive and unapologetically unhinged
freedom permeated every element
still, our collaboration allowed for honest conversation
I remember asking, “What are we doing?”
Thinking back, It underlined how vastly different our two experiences were
.
.
Songs for this:
Overtime (pt 1) by Mk.gee [E]
Blur by embrs & astralcurrent
I cut some carbs
From the home team
They were dead weight
If you know what I mean
They took their at bats
But were never a hit
Since they turned fat
And slowed me a bit
Yet it wasn’t easy
Shedding the weight
Of seasoned players
Who came to the plate
But now we’re leaner
And back in the game
Where losing is winning
In our hall of fame
Why is the pitcher in for only two innings or three?
Spring training is going on right now, you see.
From a long winter, veterans scrape off the rust.
Rookies trying to make the team hope it’s not a bust.
They work hard to earn the manager's trust.
You will see players with an unfamiliar name.
Everybody only gets one or two at bats in a game.
On the field for a few innings, then into the dugout they go.
Who is going to make the team? The managers want to know.
Why all of this fuss? There is a very good reason.
The teams are getting ready for a 162 game season.
As darkness fell, the lights came up;
The stage was filled with dance.
The final night to see the show –
Who knew I’d have the chance?
For Shakespeare in the Park is free,
With tickets handed out
To those who’ve waited hours on line,
No matter what your clout.
But also, there’s a lottery –
You register and wait;
At noon, they let you know online
If somehow, you did rate.
My spouse and I each clicked “Submit”
Each day throughout the run.
My husband also hit the line
Without success – no fun!
But yesterday, on closing night,
His email said “Congrats!”
Like hitting a grand slam behind
A slew of sad at-bats.
The show was magical, with all
The goods to entertain.
The weather gods kept clouds at bay,
Despite the threat of rain.
I’ve never won a lottery
And no, I wouldn’t switch;
For seeing Shakespeare in the Park
Made me feel very rich!
Two paths I cant choose
shoes racked, knee caps on the pews
Hands clasped we ask for a few
Key At Bats just to come through
Cause its the fact that we don't have a clue
about what is right or true
white or blue, its misconstrued
This world's view, so tried and true
Loves the lies that its spews
Recite spite just to argue
On the news flea bites ensue
To make you believe what you should be like
tattoos, earrings, abuse subdued's your hearing
cant move the muse that's sneering
the proof is mute but blaring
This route of blues is wearing
my cold shoulders are veering
my soul's holstered and fearing
These sold soldiers are tearing, us apart
We need a spark, light this dark
torque the wrench and raise the bar
scorch the bench and make a mark
were told were quenched, when were starved
excuse my french, but our ****'s
stench does not come from our ****
These sand sharks that stand on shore
can't answer The question marks,
Were all the bark with no roar
Morality's at ground floor
trying to eat pork With salad forks
Just like mister Macklemore
this hits right at you're apples core
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