Satchel Paige

Puffincircus (an online journal) said they would publish my poem in the March issue totally dedicated to BASEBALL. I was elated! BUT, Elizabeth and I were all packed and going out the door on one of our "road trips" in our van to travel south to Alabama and Mississippi (last of the two states we had never visited) to "Find Spring!" Needless to say . . . every night . . . I would locate the motel computer and check to see if the poem had shown up. (I got so tired typing in "puffincircus" every day.)

The the morning arrived. We were in a motel somewhere in Georgia and just before breakfast . . . it appeared! Sitting all around me and the computer were over-the-road truckers, their eyes glued to the TV News, joshing each other, and talking a blue streak. Such language it was . . . poetic in a way.  I was so excited to see the poem that I printed off a dozen or so copies and turned to the trucker group and asked them if they liked baseball. (Of course they did!) That was all it took. I was in luck . . . so right then and there I did a "poetry reading!"

And they liked it and wanted to know if they could get have a copy and if I would sign it. I said "you betcha" just to let them know that I was a poet from Minnesota. One even bought one of my books even if it wasn't about baseball. Several truckers huddled around the computer and scrolled down to read all the other poems about baseball. (Actually, you could do the same!)

Anyway, here is the poem I wrote. Sure is good to be home.


SATCHEL PAIGE

As my Dad told it -
as a young man, he liked playing baseball.
Did a while somewhere in South Dakota.
He said he could hit real good,
but couldn't run the bases because
of his short legs. So, there would be
a designated runner for him.
That's what they did. Worked out just fine.

That's what my Dad said, anyhow.

At family picnic gatherings,
I would see my Dad play baseball.
He could hit read good but he
sure looked funny. It was the way he ran.
Did'nt move his arms at all, just
his wrists. His legs went so fast
you almost couldn't make them out.
I was glad when the game was over
and we got to go home.

That's what I remember, anyway.

As my Dad told it -
one day in the late afternoon, his team
had a visit from a negro baseball player
traveling around the state with his catcher.
Gave guest-appearance demonstrations
for local baseball teams.
Satchel would pitch the ball so fast
no one could see it. But his catcher
always caught it. And everyone always
got struck out. Even the second and
third time around.
The ball just couldn't be hit.
Dad's team wanted to continue
even though it got dark.

That's what my Dad said, anyway.

Dad figured Paige and his catcher
had this agreement and he could see that
Satchel would wind up, pretend to
throw the ball, and his catcher
would make a sound with his fist and glove,
just like he had caught the ball.
Everyone continued to be struck out.

That's what my Dad said anyhow.

                                               -Clem J. Nagel

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