THE VET STILL STANDS

700-Level, yellow seats
Between the Marlboro and Sunoco signs.
Fifty cent “Knothole” group rate tickets,
school trip organized by our sixth grade principal.
We were there to see what we watched
on Channel 17 or had heard on AM radio.

A twi-night doubleheader for one price,
with the Cubbies or Padres,
Boone, solid behind home plate
catching “K”s hurled from Lefty,
who let his pitching do the talking.
Luzinski, “The Bull” hits two out,
then humbly tips his cap in “Left”.

A hot dog man sings his tune,
carrying a box load of franks and steam.
Kalas booms his “deep and way back”,
with Ashburn’s views and insights.
Blaring transistors nearby proclaim,
“Schmitty smacked it!”

Bowa throws to first,
Maddox covers the outfield like a blanket.
Schmidt makes the barehanded play at third.
Tug pats his glove and continues to believe.
and because of this we all believe too.
Every year was the year to win it all.

Still waiting to see another year
like the 1980 Fightin’ Phils
dreaming of another pennant on a new field,
not far away, in the parking lot.

The Vet’s been demolished, blown to bits.
“No way, Uh uh, why? You sure?” is what she said.
Leveled, lifted, carted away, but its
still standing in a little corner of my mind
next to all the other childhood memories.

I return on Saturday to capture the chill,
now green grass meets the pale blue sky.
I’m celebrating a birthday with my son and wife,
In the outfield of the future with new Phils
striving to win, making another generation’s memories.

“Can we buy a hotdog?”says my boy.
“Of course, as a matter of fact, we have to!”
Names change, teams change, stadiums change
but the feeling you have stays the same when
“Play ball” is announced by the home plate umpire.