Long Concepcion Poems
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Summer nights in Centerville, sleeping on the top bunk bed;
A transistor radio playing low, lying right there near my head.
The Big Red Machine was in their prime; those boys could sure play ball;
I fell asleep every night listening to the play-by-play of Joe Nuxhall.
I entered my life of puberty with Charlie Hustle running to first;
Davey Concepcion turning two and Joe Morgan with a speedy burst.
Johnny Bench throwing out would be stealers, Pedro Borbon with a bending curve;
All happening on the summer of my first kiss – once I finally worked up the nerve.
With Tommy sleeping in the bed below – nary a care in the world,
George Foster launched an enormous shot while I tried to figure out the girls.
Jack Billingham was striking them out – an apt metaphor for my chances,
As I fantasized about dating girls while two bases Ken Griffey advances.
Tony Perez was still strapping them on; Don Gullet piled up some wins;
Cesar Geronimo owned center field while my hormones multiplied within.
Coming of age in Centerville, back in nineteen seventy-four,
Meant listening to the Cincinnati Reds while thinking about the girl next door.
At the end of each summer day,
while laying there in my bed,
I placed a small transistor radio
under the pillow near my head.
Each night that the Reds did play
I listened to the baseball game;
Joe Nuxhall did the play-by-play -
youngest player ever, adding to his fame.
They were the Big Red Machine;
often in first place;
Pete Rose knocking out another hit;
Dave Concepcion fielding with grace.
Ken Griffey - the father -
roaming the outfield grass;
George Foster hitting home runs;
Joe Morgan sprinting in a dash.
Tony Perez, so consistent;
Cesar Geronimo had the perfect name;
Johnny Bench squatted behind home plate,
catching another game.
Through my little transistor radio,
Marty Brennaman and Joe Nuxhall brought it all to life,
as the sun faded away to darkness
on those hot Ohio summer nights.
And at the end of every night,
Joe Nuxhall would sign off all alone,
saying, "This is the old lefthander rounding third,
and heading his way on home. "