OUR BRYLCREEM HERO

BY BOB POWER
Boston Park League Hall of Fame – 1991

A baseball story for young and old
at town field was seen to unfold
twas the last of the ninth, two outs to go
and the crowd to the exits started to flow.

Up at the plate, klumpp laid down a bunt
for this big goon, it was no simple stunt.
Ah, but klumpp was safe, a new life was born
if only goldstein could move him along.

And move him along, he did just that
with adept little flick, of his bat.
All the Macks needed was just one run.
Now it was all up to Mrs. Power’s son.

The faithful Mack followers sent up a prayer.
But wait, who was this man without any hair.
He took off his hat, twas a god awful sight
for from his forehead shone a beacon of light.

In one big hand, the bats numbered three
or so it seemed to the pitcher, who couldn’t see.
Power was ready, his false teeth he grinded
for he knew if the sun was right, the pitcher would be blinded.

The pitchers one eye, almost popped from it’s socket.
That gosh darn Power, had his cap in his pocket.
The scene was set, the crowd was tense.
If only yul could clear the fence.

The pitcher shrugged, and let it fly.
His aim was good, despite his blinded eye.
Our boy stood at the plate, with a carefree air
until he noticed the ball, it had more hair.

Green with envy, he swung from the hips.
A scream of jealousy, escaped his lips.
The bat met ball, and up it flew.
That it was gone, everyone knew.

Now games are won, and games are lost
and very few realize the cost.
But to appear in public with hairs that number zero
could only be done by our Brylcreem hero.

THE SWEET PART OF THE BAT

BY JAMES M. COLLYER
Boston Park League Hall of Fame – 1983

As my years drift by and the summers grow shorter, I sit and think of the days gone by.

If I was to sit real still and listen hard, those exciting days could be heard again.

That thud in the mitt when the batter swung and missed.

The sound of the bat on the ball.

Yes, if we could return to those days it would be so nice.

“Go Bitetti, catch that ball. Turn that double play Gerard. Hit that long ball again, Klumpp and Henue.”

“Ah! Curley, block that plate. Give no ground.”

“Throw that smoke Kearns. We’ll need it for McDonald, Kelliher and Mortimer, and to face those pitchers on the other side.”

“Concanon, Wilkinson, and Nowell was a match in itself.”

Yes , the fifty’s were exciting years, and the years before as well.

The Cateruis brothers, Bird, Jackman, Settino, Festa, Kallenberg, and many more as great.

Then along came the ping in the bat.

The homers came many and far.

The long ball was here, and the pitching had to be great.

Paublo, Higgins, Blaine, and many more would take the mounds.

The Hill brothers, Rentas, Anderson, Castro, Riley and many more, would send those balls into space.

Now here at the start of the next century, the ping has left the bat.

The sound of the forty’s and fifty’s can be heard in the parks again.

Defense and pitching is back, wood is the name of the game.

Let’s make sure it never leaves again.

For there is no greater sound than when the ball meets the sweet part of the bat.