Cross posted with Beck's Balls where I go to ramble about sports without boring my friends.
Please do not read this if you are a serious church goer with no sense of humor. I mean no disrespect, just to say that my perfect Sunday involves a matinee baseball game, a movie and karaoke at Burt's Tiki Lounge. If that's a problem for you I'm sorry and can't do a thing about it.
First to explain. A former co-worker, now returned to Nebraska, walked over to me on a Friday and said "Will I see you in church on Sunday?" I was confused since I haven't actually been to a non-wedding or funeral church service since Easter 1989 in Frankfurt, (then West) Germany. He explained that he was talking about the Sunday matinee baseball game that weekend, the only day he could go to games since he worked the night shift.
Since then the Sunday games have been "going to church." I sit outside and revel in the glory of the sunshine and sky, watch well-tuned people glory in the use of their bodies, partake of a communion of hot dogs and beer and sing a hundred year old hymn in the middle of the 7th.
Hallelujah and pass the peanuts.
I've got a somewhat weak poem that I wrote during the first inning of last Sunday's 8-1 Bees win. I won't be bothered at all if you stop reading here. In fact, go to mlb.com and check how your team is doing, or how my poor Tigers and not so bad Brewers are today.
Let's make that 2 poems, though the Salt Lake Bees and Fresno Grizzlies wrote the first one:
R H E
Fresno 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 1 4 2
Bees 5 0 0 0 0 1 2 0 0 8 15 2
Pilgrimage
I passed three churches
on my way to the library,
the congregants didn't look happy
going in or coming out,
but I was listening to bluegrass
and not concerned
with their fear of damnation
only with renewing my book.
Then I drank some coffee
and chatted with the boys.
Here, at the ballpark,
the congregation is happy,
taking a communion
of hot dogs and beer.
A weird mix of Pentecostal noise
and Catholic ritual.
2 runs, 5 hits, 1 out in the first
with three men on.
What better church in April,
month of poetry and early season hope?
