An Ode To Matt Wieters

Matt Wieters! Matt Wieters! Matt Wieters! Matt Wieters!
Beloved of pundits and bloggers and Tweeters.
We all knew for ages that he’d be the best
And now to his greatness I too can attest.

Matt Wieters! Matt Wieters! Matt Wieters! Matt Wieters!
Those who would surpass him are certainly cheaters.
I saw him break up a no-hitter! (Although
It was the second inning…but even so.)

Matt Wieters! Matt Wieters! Matt Wieters! Matt Wieters!
His home runs can travel for hundreds of meters.
But to his opponents he’s kind and shows grace
(I saw him hit a fielder’s choice to first base.)

Matt Wieters! Matt Wieters! Matt Wieters! Matt Wieters!
He’ll crush all your changeups, he’ll hit your high heaters.
But he’s so good that he doesn’t need to swing.
(I saw him walk.) Yes, he can do everything.

Matt Wieters! Matt Wieters! Matt Wieters! Matt Wieters!
No other people can claim to be world-beaters.
Who else could ground out to shortstop with his skill?
(I saw him do that too.) No one can, or will.

Matt Wieters! Matt Wieters! Matt Wieters! Matt Wieters!
When the game is tied up, and the outcome teeters
In the Orioles’ final at-bat, Wieters’ clout
Came up to the plate…and I saw him strike out.

Matt Wieters! Matt Wieters! Matt Wieters! Matt Wieters!
He’ll make us forget old Pujolses and Jeters
And Mauers and Molinas and–never mind
That now. Did you hear Stephen Strasburg got signed?

Phillies 9, Mets 7

Our memories of heroes go in chunks; months of success in Boston, triumphs in New York, exploits elsewhere. But every so often, they return to their old fields. Emotion is distorted; we’re unsure how to greet them. Time folds into flukish intersections; we lose trust in simple dimensions.

But before even this repetition comes offense. Two trinities of runs bring up the pitcher, bringing out noise while he steps in. He is still in the box, not needing to swing. In the end (but it is just the beginning), he endures while his opposite number exits. 3-0…but he is retired.

The pendulum jerks over to the hosts without stopping for even one out. Most homers go over the outfield fence. This one goes under it. Victorino tries to surrender, but this sport will not condone such hopelessness. The runner keeps running. The left fielder continues fielding, but is left with no good throw. The Mets score; the competition goes on.

Two runs echo two runs. Then more come, one by one. With the Phillies up by just three runs, Bruntlett hits it into the outfield. The umpire’s unsure, Bruntlett motors on to triple. The Mets’ skipper fights it–more impressively, wins. How often does disputing such rulings work? It’s flukish, weird, but oddity is needed from time to time.

So Bruntlett is out. So too, quickly, is his boss. To the end. Even then, it’s not over. The first hitter gets to third. The next pitch is hit to Bruntlett. E4, one run in, one on. Nobody out.

The next pitch is hit to Bruntlett. He knocks it down. Two on, nobody out.

Then lined to second. Bruntlett’s got it, momentum pushing him through second for out number two. He turns, going for Murphy, who tries to bounce out of the defensive zone. But it is no use–the field too is folded through impossible dimensions. Forever here, forever welcoming the weird.

Angels 17, Cubs 17

Sometimes you don’t have to know any more
Than what can be contained in the line score.
It tells you which team won and who they beat
All in proportions neat…or not so neat.

Extra innings stretch their game’s proportion.
Such a distortion requires, it would seem,
One team versus an evenly matched team.
Innings in which one team scores ten runs, though
Shouldn’t feature so similar skills, it
Would seem. These days papers tend to omit
The parentheses that signified them.
Such a hitting gem is visible from
Context, however. And yet there are some
Extra innings where teams score often. They
Have to be away to score so many
And must keep fighting; there isn’t any
Amount they can score to be sure they’ll win.
If they had won in fewer innings, blown
Leads would be forgotten, the game unknown
Shortly afterward. Each chance gone to waste
Was only a taste of triumph. Distort
The linescore to echo throughout the sport.

Atlanta 6, Washington 2

It’s a tiny crowd, 17,000 or so according to Atlanta’s Journal-Constitution. Possibly it is that many, but it’s a big stadium and it looks far from full. Washington’s first run is quick, a first-inning Adam Dunn RBI, but Josh Willingham grounds to third for two quick outs.

Atlanta’s first run is a solo shot, as is run #2. Nothing much occurs in innings 3 through 6–outs occur fairly quickly.

Now and again, sound blasts down on us for tomahawk chops. It is not as jarring as worry would put it, though it’s slightly odd to sit unmoving amidst such motion. Still, without knowing what it is, it just looks funny (and sounds too loud for this small of a crowd, but that’s okay)–a fan tradition, nothing wrong with that.

As is my standard, I’m scoring as I go, but without much room to do so. Scrunching up 1Bs and BBs, I track Nationals’ locations. A hit to shortstop–Paul Simon (that’s how his autograph looks, anyway) falls on his stomach failing to pick it up, and stays horizontal as Washington’s tying run rounds third.

But Atlanta’s third solo shot pulls it forward again, and its fourth is soon to occur. A walk, a hit, and Paul Simon is put on only to bring up a guy with two clouts so far that night. It’s a walk, to bring in Brian McCann. (Both RBI  guy Adam and McCann sport oddly many capitals–bring on McLouth!)

So it’s a 6-2 final, a quick night out. I wasn’t rooting for anybody, and couldn’t ask for anything too distinct from this.


South Carolina looks as if a child
Found a bug in a city simulation
And, without financial limits, ran wild,
Filling up a coastal location
With a long row of buildings and
Put tools in too, as if you would
Want to swim but stay within land.
But why would you? That coast is good
For swimming and for waiting and for wading.
Waiting, as you crouch down within a trough,
For foam braking as it hits you, and fading
Towards land. Jump, it’s coming now!

Top Nine Things I’d Like To Let You Know Right Now

  • Posting “top nine” lists makes me feel much cooler than posting “uncategorized” things, even if there’s little meaningful content in this post.
  • This site has been rather lacking in its title feature, I know. I’ve been writing a lipogram, but not for the blog.
  • I’ll be on vacation soon, so don’t expect much activity around here for a while.
  • I will be seeing a game at a stadium I’ve never been to before, so there should be plenty to report on when I get back.
  • In light of recent events, I find the etymology of “Pirates” in the Pittsburgh context (they ruthlessly bought up other teams’ players) to be incredibly ironic.
  • The sidebar has been reorganized–it now features the logo, a baseball whose stitches form the “no” sign. “No” using a certain letter, geddit?
  • The text underneath the logo was my answer to the question “Dave Steib or David Cone?” It was meant to nod to the title of the blog where the question was asked, Pitchers & Poets, but I think it sums up a lot of who I am and what this blog is about. (See also the post before this.)
  • This makes it three times in sixth months I’ve implicitly connected my style of writing and perfect games.
  • I’m certainly not trying to imply that I’m anywhere near as talented as those who could throw/approach perfect games, and I’m sorry if it comes across that way. Guess it’s just a fixation, but I can live with that.