In Anaheim did Shohei-san
A baseball stadium decree:
Where Trout, the sacred hitter, ran
Through at-bats measureless to man
Down to a scoreless three.
Through twice five innings the fertile mound
With walks and pop-outs was girdled round;
And there were bleachers wet with beer you spill,
Where stumbled many a fan that had to pee;
And here were fanboys ancient as Rich Hill,
Entreating L.A.’s bats to “Please hurry!”

But oh! that deep romantic fastball which slanted
Down the green field athwart a leathern cover!
A savage pitch! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath an afternoon was haunted
By catcher wailing for his Golden Glover!
And from this at-bat, with ceaseless Redman spitting,
As if this earth in knicker pants were hitting,
A mighty foul ball momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or Piazza’s bat beneath the Clemens flail:

And mid these dancing fans at once and ever
In the line-up came the sacred hitter.
Five pitches meandering with a mazy motion
Past second base the sacred hitter ran,
To the hot corner measureless to fan,
And sank in tumult to a sales promotion;
And ’mid this tumult Shohei heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying W.A.R.!

The shadow of the field of leisure—
Not like Fenway or the Braves—
Where was heard the mingled measure
Of the pitcher and the saves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny stadium with beers of ice!

A damsel with a can of beer
In a vision once I saw:
She was a Barstool Smokeshow, paid,
And on her Samsung phone she played,
A song about Cooperstown.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight ’twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that field in air,
That stadium! those beers of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, No fair! No fair!
His swinging arms, his derriere!
Shout a Bronx cheer round him thrice,
And throw to home with holy dread
For he on In-N-Out hath fed,
And hit a fly-ball sacrifice.