Catfish Hunter
Hard rubber plate there in the dust
and just beyond, a mound.
With difficulty Catfish turned
and paced the muddy ground.
Even with the walker
these few steps were hard indeed.
Shoulders weak, steps faltering
from Lou Gehrig’s sad disease.
The blue sky stretched above him
so infinite and vast.
With difficulty Catfish reached
back, deep into his past.
He did not think of trophies
or recall his perfect game.
Not at all about the millions
he once got to sign his name.
He was pitching for the Yankees
against men in Dodger Blue.
The World Series game on the line
some whispered he was through
His mind recalled each move he’d made
Each strikeout pitch he threw.
In Memory the fastball’s song
still sang out loud and true.
Like an old dog fast asleep
might dream that He’s still young.
Catfish thought about the night
His last Series ring was won
Soon, too soon, he’d be relieved
of ball, of life, of game
He’ be a plaque upon the wall
down at the hall of fame.
A few more weeks
and he’d be gone-
a casualty, nothing more.
The object now of whispered prayers,
This man fans once adored.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Catfish
Lazy stadium night
Catfish on the mound.
Strike three, the umpire said,
Batter have to go back and sit down.
Catfish, million-dollar-man,
Nobody can throw the ball like catfish can.
Used to work on mr. finleys farm
But the old man wouldnt pay
So he packed his glove and took his arm
An one day he just ran away.
Catfish, million-dollar-man,
Nobody can throw the ball like catfish can.
Come up where the yankees are,
Dress up in a pinstripe suit,
Smoke a custom-made cigar,
Wear an alligator boot.
Catfish, million-dollar-man,
Nobody can throw the ball like catfish can.
Carolina born and bred,
Love to hunt the little quail.
Got a hundred-acre spread,
Got some huntin dogs for sale.
Catfish, million-dollar-man,
Nobody can throw the ball like catfish can.
Reggie jackson at the plate
Seein nothin but the curve,
Swing too early or too late
Got to eat what catfish serve.
Catfish, million-dollar-man,
Nobody can throw the ball like catfish can.
Even billy martin grins
When the fish is in the game.
Every season twenty wins
Gonna make the hall of fame.
Catfish, million-dollar-man,
Nobody can throw the ball like catfish can.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Catfish
(bob dylan, jacques levy)
Lazy stadium night,
Catfish on the mound.
strike three, the umpire said,
Batter have to go back and sit down.
Catfish, million dollar man.
Nobody can throw the ball like catfish can.
Used to work on mr. finleys farm
But the old man would not pay.
So he packed his glove and took his arm
And one day he just ran away.
Catfish, million dollar man.
Nobody can throw that ball like catfish can.
Way up where the yankees are
Smoke a custom made cigar.
Catfish, million dollar man.
Nobody can throw that ball like catfish can.
Reggie jackson at the plate
Seeing nothing but the curve.
Swing too early or too late,
Got to eat what catfish serve.
Catfish, million dollar man.
Nobody can throw the ball like catfish can.
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Catfish Girl
Catfish girl, makes it feel so fine
Catfish girl, always pulling on my line
When I see her smiling face, She get me every single time
Yeah she does.
Catfish girl, I miss you Lord I feel so blue
Oh my Catfish girl, Oh and every little thing that you do
Oh Catfish girl, I only want to be with you.
Oh Catfish come on now...
Aint' that the prettiest thing you ever did see.........
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Farewell To My Fans
A farewell to my fans
When I am just a faded memory,
and my dimensions shift in your mind’s eye-
think back upon the nights you spent at me
around a field of green beneath the sky.
For you were here the night back in 04’
The night that Jeter dove into my stands
When Yanks and Red Sox played a thirteenth Frame
he caught the ball but had to leave the game.
And you were here when A-Rod hit three bombs
Against the cy young candidate Colon-
you stood expectant in my left field stands
To catch the fourth if ever it should land..
Who can forget old Freddy and his pan-
The “Ancient Mariner” of Yankee fans
He wanders through my aisles just like a vendor-
He bangs the drum more slowly this September.
I’ve been the field where Ruth and Mantle played-
where DiMaggio stood out at center stage.
I’ve been the home plate where the luckiest man
bowed out before his disbelieving fans.
I’ve played host often to a Series game
My champions have added to my fame.
The shadows long upon my infield face
As days grew short and cool at Autumn’s pace.
I was the place George Herman lay in state
When he lost his fight for life in 48’
Thousands of you wandered past his bier
(the only one he didn’t want, I hear) .
But now my time has come, they say I’m through
And I think hard what Gehrig had to do-
He passed on the baton from failing hands
So I too say my farewell to the fans.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Faded Photographs
Some pictures hang upon my wall
Of baseball players from the past-
Gionfriddo’s catch of DiMaggio’s ball-
Lou Gehrig standing at the mike-
Babe Ruth pitching in the Bronx-
And the one place that links them all.
They happened at the lumberyard
The place on River Avenue
The place where Bombers came to play
Now sad, diminished, and by Fall-
a victim of the wrecking ball.
One other theme is intertwined
Within the pictures on my wall
Each enshrines the final time
These men enjoyed a curtain call..
Babe was pitching his last time
The season ender (33’)
He never pitched another game
A complete game shutout
Against the Sox.
Gehrig speaking at the mike
A hot July 4th holiday
At home plate for the final time
He stood on the unaccustomed side
Gionfriddo’s speed won the game
By making his miraculous catch
But next day he sat on the bench
And never played a game again
How bittersweet these moments are
for a scrub or a superstar
To know, at last, you’ve reached the end
To still have done the best you can.
Their time has passed, these men have died
And now their park has seen its day
I’ve only photographs to show
Perfection never fades away.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Your Catfish Friend
If I were to live my life
in catfish forms
in scaffolds of skin and whiskers
at the bottom of a pond
and you were to come by
one evening
when the moon was shining
down into my dark home
and stand there at the edge
of my affection
and think, "It's beautiful
here by this pond.I wish
somebody loved me,"
I'd love you and be your catfish
friend and drive such lonely
thoughts from your mind
and suddenly you would be
at peace,
and ask yourself, "I wonder
if there are any catfish
in this pond?It seems like
a perfect place for them."
poem by Richard Brautigan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bob Forsch R.I.P.
His heart, like a knuckle ball,
fluttered in his chest.
A most unwelcome pressure-
he felt his chest compressed.
One week before he stood in awe
upon the mound at Busch.
Cameras flashed as he let fly
the ceremonial first pitch.
A champion in eighty two,
A Card for fifteen years.
Bob Forsch, A loved familiar name
brought out before the seventh game.
The first pitch that he threw that night
would also prove to be his last.
The Cards went on to victory
adding to their storied past.
A heart attack, the neighbors say.
Sixty one, so young, to fade away
God stole a page from LaRussa's book
in giving this starter a quick hook.
Last week, Bob Forsch, tossed the ceremonial first pitch before his Cardinals went on to win the World Series. Bob tossed two no hitters in his career and his Brother ken had tossed one also. The only brothers in Baseball history to accomplish that feat. When a starting pitcher is removed from a game early, before it has lasted long enough to be an official game, it is said the manager gave him a 'quick hook' Tony LaRussa, the manager of the Cardinals was notorious for changing pitchers multiple times in every game.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Mess Of Catfish
A mess of catfish on his plate,
they were crispy as he ate.
Bestest time he ever had
goin' fishin' with his dad.
Went at night. His momma said
'It's too late, time for bed.'
Dad complained and said to her
'It's time he learned what nighttime's fer.'
And so it was he learned to fish.
And so it was he got his wish.
He still goes fishin' late at night
and thinks of dad when the catfish bite.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There used to be a ballpark here
The Ghosts of Ruth and Gehrig sat
Up in Tier 35
And wiped tears from translucent cheeks
As the final anthem died.
DiMaggio brought the popcorn
The Mick supplied the beer
He bought it up in heaven
Cause it’s cheaper there than here.
“An epic game”, the Babe enthused
“The best I ever saw”
he chowed down on some hot dogs
And looked around for more.
Gehrig glanced out at his bat
Atop the center pole
And wished to get it in his hands
And feel its weight once more.
“I had a streak in 41’ the longest in the game”
Then DiMaggio fell silent and turned to watch the game
“I did my best in 56’”Mantle then exclaimed
“I wonder what I could have been if both my legs were game”
Mystique and Aura, Saucy things
Each dancing at a pole
As Derek with his broken hand
drove a single through the hole.
Pettite our left handed ace
Dealt his greatest game
Glaring out beneath his cap-
His hate for batters plain.
The autumn sky had turned to black
When Mo entered the game
The Sandman tune was soon drowned out
By the faithful who remain.
Robert Merrill sang, and then Kate Smith sang
Then Sinatra one last time
Singers for the requiem
Living need not apply!
The Ghosts of Ruth and Gehrig sat
Up in Tier 35
And wiped tears from translucent cheeks
As the music died
“I wonder if we’ll feel the pain
When they wield the wrecking ball
I wonder if our hearts will break
When they breech the wall.”
“Fear not, dear friend, the Stadium’s end
For if steel and concrete fall
The Stadium lives in our hearts
Whenever we recall.”
The fans left standing in the street
On River Avenue
These corporate types in Luxury suites
Have little thought for you
Our paradise is lost tonight
Our little patch of green
But what a life we lived in there
The greatness we have seen.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Before I pitch any game, from spring training to Game 7 of the World Series, I'm scared to death.
quote by Curt Schilling
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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George Steinbrenner, the Boss
He bought the Yankees for a song
From CBS and Michael Burke:
He worked restoring Yankee Pride
It was his life's great work.
The House that Ruth built long ago
Was then in disrepair
Where aging veterans stumbled through
long seasons of despair.
With Crafty Gabe Paul at his side
He made some dandy trades-
Deals that worked out better
than the one Mike Kekich made.
The boss was quite the artist
And his medium was rare.
Free agents flocked to sign here
Sacrificing facial hair.
Wth Munson as his Captain
And Jackson as his straw
He won a pair of trophies
And the Yanks became a draw.
For hiring and firing
The Boss has known few equals
As soon as Billy would depart
The Boss would plan a sequel.
But Munson took up flying
One day he died in flames.
Remember Murcer’s Eulogy
at church and in the game?
Boss castigated “Mr. May”
When Rings were hard to find-
George fell for Howie Spira’s spiel
and was banished for a time.
Just then his Yanks in doldrums lay
as the Mets in Queens would rise.
Gene Michael Drafted wisely
And he held on to his guys.
A core of good young players rose,
His Yanks on top again
Mr. Torre won four trophies
with Mo Rivera in the Pen.
George built a brand new Stadium
On River Avenue
And his team went to the Series
cause that’s what the Yankees do.
And on the Night Godzilla roared
The Yankees won it all
It’s dedicated to the Boss,
for now and ever more.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Bitter Art...
it was the lesson learned
while fishing for catfish on the river
in that small creek
mossy, and covered with some
coconut leaves
rotten
where the catfish liked to swim
and be caught
for the divine purpose of
lunch for the
poor,
i have learned the bitter art
of waiting
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gary Speed
Glory came early as did fame.
to Gary Speed there on the pitch.
Cheers he heard from adoring crowds
among the elite he found his niche.
With time’s passage he lost a step
even if he felt the same
but as he ran he thought he saw
an old man’s shadow
in a young man’s game.
He coached to stay around the game.
After the cheers for him had faded
A friendly face, a familiar name
but as he coached he thought he saw
an old man’s shadow
in a young man’s game.
For many, Gary was an icon,
a living legend of the game.
They failed to see the mortal man
with silence weighting on his frame
As he tied the rope he thought he saw
an old man’s shadow
in a young man’s game
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Catfish John (studio Outtake)
Mama said, "Don't go near that river,
Don't be hanging around old Catfish John."
Come in the morning I'd always be there,
Walking in his footsteps in the sweet Delta dawn.
Take me back to another morning, to a time so long ago,
When the sweet magnolia blossomed, cotton fields as white as snow.
Catfish John was a river hobo who lived and died by the river's bed,
Looking back I still remember I was proud to be his friend.
Mama said, "Don't go near that river,
Don't be hanging around old Catfish John."
Come in the morning I'd always be there,
Walking in his footsteps in the sweet Delta dawn.
Born a slave in the town of Vicksburg, traded for a chestnut mare,
Lord her never spoke in anger though his load was hard to bear.
Mama said, "Don't go near that river,
Come in the morning I'd always be there,
Walking in his footsteps in the sweet Delta dawn.
Walking in his footsteps in the sweet Delta dawn
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I think we match up with anybody because our pitching. In a short series you run your big three out there or four out there. That generally is what wins a series - pitching and defense. If we can catch the ball and not give away any runs like we do sometimes.
quote by Dusty Baker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blue Bayou
I feel so bad Ive got a worried mind
Im so lonesome all the time
Since I left my baby behind on blue bayou
Saving nickels, saving dimes, working till the sun dont shine
Looking forward to happier times on blue bayou
Im going back some day come what may to blue bayou
Where you sleep all day and the catfish play on blue bayou
All those fishing boats with their sails afloat if I could only see
That familiar sunrise through sleepy eyes, how happy Id be
Go to see my baby again
And to be with some of my friends
Maybe Id be happy then on blue bayou
Im going back some day, gonna stay on blue bayou
Where the folks are fine and the world is mine on blue bayou
Oh, that girl of mine by my side the silver moon and the evening tide
Oh, some sweet day gonna take away this hurtin inside
Ill never be blue, my dreams come true on blue bayou
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Inspired by Issa - Catfish tells its secrets
the catfish
all day long, whispering secrets
to the mud in the field
the catfish
it tells its secrets only to
the mud in the field
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Best Among The Best
I laid down upon the shore of my bed,
and dreamed of a world i set ablazed.
I heard the great shouting and roaring of my name,
as i kept playing the beautiful round leather game.
The electrifying emotion on the pitch,
and the extraordinary feeling off the pitch,
Made me the best.
Even when faced with a hard test,
i had no option than victory,
cos wen am on the pitch, i cause my opponent misery.
The smooth texture of the grasses,
brought me happiness from the masses.
The joy of winning every match,
brought even more tougher opponent attach.
Every game had something to play for,
and when i don't get a chance to play, makes me bore.
Hearing the screeming of my name from the fans,
only makes my opponent feel banes.
I just want to tell the whole world,
that i am the best in everything i does in the world.
poem by Stanley Oguh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When The Wind Gave Me Her Name
The wind once asked if I knew her name.
She said if I didn't, we'd play a game.
A game of guess, within this game of life.
If I won, never again would I know strife.
I guessed her name till the ends of the earth,
she would smile, and grin, and laugh in mirth.
'There is one name you haven't tried..'
She whispered it in my ear, and made me smile with pride.
Lines Upon Your Face
A small group of boys walks down the street
Throwing a ball in the air
One says to another
Hey Ill always be your brother
Ill always be your friend
Chorus:
Do you remember
When we thought we were immortal
And the games we played always had a happy end
But in the game of life all the roses wither
And time writes its lines upon your face
Summers here and three young men
Drive through the town in the night air
When fall comes theyll part again
One turns to another and he says
Chorus
Its three a.m. and hes been feeling lonely
Works been hard and the citys hard too
He picks up the phone and halfway across the country
A brother listens to his blues he says
Chorus
Lift your voices loud and clearly
Sing for brotherhood right now
Lift your voices loud and clearly
Sing for sisterhood right now
Sometimes I wish
That we all were immortal
And the game of life always had a happy end
But I know its not true oh time keeps passing
But Im just glad to spend my time
With you
Lift your voices loud and clearly
Sing for brotherhood right now
Lift your voices loud and clearly
Sing for sisterhood right now
song performed by by Vertical Horizon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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