Poetry Grand Slam: Wait til Next Year

The Bardball.com season came to an end last night in an entirely predictable fashion, as Poetry Slam poobah Marc Smith used his commissioner’s powers to steal victory (and pork chops) from the jaws of defeat.

Our team was definitely the underdogs, as we took the stage in the smoky confines of the Green Mill Lounge. The Bardball Irregulars acquitted themselves mightily and almost pulled off the upset. Stu Shea delivered a fresh and powerful ode to the blue-balled Cub season and how it reflects the local civic character, and a moving rendition of “For Rod Beck”. Charles “Sid Yiddish” “Double Duty” Bernstein came through as MVP on the team with strong readings of “Seventh Inning Stench”, “Caught Him Looking” and “Mr. Cub’s Autograph”. Sid earned the nickname “Double Duty” for his amazing throat-singing of “Take Me Out To The Ballgame” during our seventh inning stretch. Hey, you don’t see Carlos Zambrano running up to the broadcast booth to do that, do ya?

My game started out slowly. Slam poetry, with its jazzy rhythms and sleeve-worn emotions, is obviously not my regular style, but I’m not looking for excuses. The reason for my poor scoring was obvious: unbeknownst to anyone, Smith had appointed a YANKEE FAN as one of the three slam judges. I went up blindly confident and performed “The Silver Lining, or At Least the Yankees Lost.” The entire Chicago crowd was behind me on this one, chanting the chorus of the final line, and yet this self-hating Gothamite judged that I had “popped up” on my first try. (Apropros of nothing, she also complained she couldn’t find a decent 24-hour deli in this town, and that Midwesterners talk so slowly it’d drive ya nuts.) On my next at bat, I performed ““On Being AJ Pierzynski,” but because the poem didn’t mention Jorge Posada, the judge again ruled me a pop out. I redeemed myself slightly with “On the Inaugural Season of the Israel Baseball League” and knocked it for a homer. Now, had mercurial Marc Smith changed his scoring rules BEFORE my last at bat instead of after, the Bardball Irregulars would be enjoying a victory parade right down Dearborn Street this lovely morning, swigging champagne from silver cups. But it wasn’t meant to be.

With the score tied, we went into extra innings and sent Sid up again. But we gave him an unfamiliar poem to bat with, and the power just wasn’t there the last time. For the bottom of the 10th, the Green Mill team sent up — who else? and So What?? — Marc Smith, who hammed it up through his poem “Ball Park 65”. The partisan crowd went wild, as the cult of personality Smith has built up over the past two decades came through again, a poetry patronage army if ever there was one. Organizer, commissioner, scorekeeper, judge AND pinch-hitter? Apparently there’s nothing Smith can’t do except admit defeat. As a friendly little side bet, the Bardball team now owes the Green Mill squad a bucket of pork chops, kraut and apples from the Chicago Brauhaus, which I’m sure Marc will share with everyone since he’s the clubhouse manager and team chandler as well.

So our magical year ends on a dissatisfying note. The Bardball.com team, which didn’t even exist when the season began, came within one hit of the championship. Apparently Marc Smith’s rabid appetite for overcooked pig flesh (not to mention his overcooked poetry) was incentive enough to flambe the rule book and steal victory for his team. But before we move on to “Wait Until Next Year,” we should savor this season, the ups and downs, the stresses and meters, the rhymes both internal and external, the moxie of writers in love with the spirit of the game pushing themselves past what even they themselves thought they could do.

My hat is off to Stu and Sid, as well as the poets on the Green Mill squad who were great competitors and fine poets. We will welcome them in the pages of Bardball.com in the future. The Poetry Grand Slam will rise above the petty machinations of the organizers, and remain etched in the hearts of our countrymen and women for years to come. Vita brevis, ars longa.

8 Replies to “Poetry Grand Slam: Wait til Next Year”

  1. Would Lou Piniella second guess himself? You always liked that one, and I can’t think of another that would’ve done any better. And Sid had never seen it. so….

    We’ll have more “slam” style stuff in the hopper next year.

  2. you didn’t let the side down stu, it was great! and don’t worry about that next year stuff, coz next year is now! i had a great time w/ both you & jim! it was a great night overall. i’m proud to have slammed w/the both of you and i hope to do it again!

  3. That goes double for me, Sid. Hope your readings this week went well, and the upcoming ones too.

    Did you tell your ma she was on Bardball last week?

  4. i sure did, jim! she was pleased that it was posted especially on tuesday, october 9, which would have been john lennon’s 67th birthday. all my readings went over well; i was asked back @ a few places and i even conquered drunken punks in indianapolis! i have another show upcoming in nov. that i’ll fill you in on, if you’re interested in coming to…

  5. As a member of the Green Mill Team, I must admit that the victory was bittersweet. I never want to slam against White Sox fans again.

    and Marc won’t share with us. He’ll bathe in those chops and send us a dirty Polaroid but that’s it.

  6. Sid and Stu are actually Cub Fans, and I’m a Tigers fan, so don’t feel too badly. Your team was in top shape, much better than that perverted old windbag. (If you have Rob’s email and your other teammate whose name escapes me, send it to me, or ask them the next time you see them. Then I can hit you bards up next spring for more baseball poetry)

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