The fact that I didn’t catch onto whom this poem was referring before it was actually mentioned at the end is a testament to the lack of recognition that these individuals receive in the game. I won’t give it away. You’ll just have to read it for yourself, and I challenge you to try and figure out the subject of the poem before you reach the bottom.
This piece was published in the journal NINE: A Journal of Baseball History and Culture.
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Starters of careers, maker of many, saver of some
Recognition of his role often does not come
Players and club all too soon forget
On each player, his future is set
For all they do for the game
Shouldn’t they, too, be in the Hall of Fame?
Despite the long hours away
Lack of security and low pay
They cling to the game they’ve known
Since the seeds in the youth were sown
For all they do for the game
Shouldn’t they, too, be in the Hall of Fame?
After the legs have gone, and the bat is slow
Arm is short and the fast one lost its glow
The love for often does remain
For all they do for the game
Shouldn’t they, too, be in the Hall of Fame?
No time clock, lunch pail, or heavy lifting
Just America’s game, blue skies, green grass, white clouds a’drifting
The drawer is about to be closed on the file
Of a part of the game, personalities, characters and style
For all they do for the game
Shouldn’t they, too, be in the Hall of Fame?
Can’t we honor these men
For who they are and what they’ve been
For all they do for the game
Shouldn’t scouts, too, be in the Hall of Fame?
