After retiring from an epic career (especially for a pitcher) in major league baseball, Sam Jones took it upon himself to continue as a productive citizen of the world. He remained an active figure in “the country of baseball,” charitably devoted his time with children on the field, and, apparently, took a liking to poetry.
Baseball is but a Game of Life
First base of Egotism, Second base of overconfidence,
Third base of indifference, Home Plate of honest achievement.
A good many men lose by reason of pop-flies;
the short-stop of public opinion frequently nips short the
career of a man who fails to connect with the ball of life
with a good sound wallop.
The winner is the man who knocks the horse-hide of opportunity
loose with the bat of honest effort.
When you have batted for the last, made the rounds of the bases
and successfully negotiated home-plate,
may we hope to hear the Umpire of LIFE, which after all,
is the esteem of friends and acquaintances,
call to you that you’re safe.
Well. . . . I’m not sure if it’s my favorite baseball poem, but I applaud the effort. On the other hand, I really do admire the following poem from The Glory of Their Times (1966) in the preface for the chapter contributed by none other than Sam Jones, coincidentally (or not). However timeless it may or may not be in terms of style and tone, the sentiment expressed–indeed lamented–holds relevance to this day. Perhaps it’s even more relevant now in this watchful era of pitch counts where fragile pitching arms are micromanaged oh so delicately.
How dear to my heart was the old-fashioned hurler
Who labored all day on the old village green.
He did not resemble the up-to-date twirler
Who pitches four innings and ducks from the scene.
The up-to-date twirler I’m not very strong for;
He has a queer habit of pulling up lame.
And that is the reason I hanker and long for
The pitcher who started and finished the game.
The old-fashioned pitcher,
The iron-armed pitcher,
The stout-hearted pitcher,
Who finished the game.
Untitled poem by George E. Phair.