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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Related quotes
The Fans
Submitted by: Ladywiz
Before we ever made the headlines
Or toured the concert halls
We survived our share of bar rooms
Stared at many motel walls
The years in Carolina
And all the one night stands
What kept the fires a burnin'
Back then, was you, the fans.
We two stepped out to Texas
Round and round the dance hall floors
Played the fair in Minnesota
I wish we could've played one more
We hope you remember
We're just the boys in the band
And what keeps the fires a burnin'
Is always, you, the fans.
(la da da, da da, la da)
I wish this night could last forever
Ah, but the show must go on
And we'll take home the memories
And we'll leave you with our songs
It's been good to see ya'll
Can we come back again? and again, and again
What keeps the fires a burnin'
In us, Is you, the fans.
As long as you remember, the boys in the band
We'll keep the fires a burnin'
For all of You, our Fans...
song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Tense And Nervous At The Match
Massive game today
butterflies in my stomach
can feel my heart beating
beads of sweat on my brow.
But I'm not even playing
I'm just a loyal supporter
but we need the win so much
a fan who loves his football club.
The referee has blown his whistle
our fans are singing and chanting
the away fans are singing as well
they need three points as much as us.
The game is swinging to and fro
they have hit the post and so have we
then with five minutes till half time
they are awarded a dodgy penalty.
Our keeper tries to put the taker off
he jumps up and down on his line
he strikes it hard to the goalies left
the keeper alas dives to his right instead.
One down at the interval it's off to the bar
us fans moaning about the dreadful decision
then after a pint it's back to the stands
to start cheering on our team once again.
We go on the attack right from the start
our striker bangs one on to their bar
then we get a bit of luck at last
the referee has given us a dodgy penalty.
There keeper jumps up and down on his line
but our taker stands with hands on hips
then cooly trots up and hits it to the right
there keeper dives down to his left.
One all now with ten minutes to go
us fans are going crazy getting behind the team
then we all end up hugging and leaping about
because our striker has smacked it in the net.
The ref blows his whistle it's the end of the game
we all stand and clap our beloved team off
it's off to the pub for a great night out
it feels so good when your team gets a win!
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Fans Of Written Word Verse
fans I have no fans
fans are for past dead
fans are for present posers
I am not yet spent dead
I am still one of elite verse doers
I am still among rare word writers
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Football Friday
Friday nite, small towns, big city
Big lights, mark field
quietly awaiting
for bands, fans
school colors, school spirits
pep rally's, scoring alleys
big crowds, cheering fans
cheerleaders dancing, cheering
Root Root for the home team
balls flying, bodies diving
scrambles of run, bombs of passes
scoring touchdowns, holding them down
Win Win hail to our team
Lose Lose hold your heads high
there's another day to win the game
loading bus, cheers and jeers
what a night, for the fight
Win Win for the home crowd
Go Go we won't go
fight fight thru the night
finally a win, what a team
play the game as your first
win it like your last
sportsmanship is the respect
give a hand shake win or lose
till the next game we will go
on another beautiful Friday night
poem by Michael Peterson
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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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Dusty Springfield
The music of the Dusty Springfield still lives on,
Even though she, herself, is now dead and gone.
Every day, her songs are played on the airwaves.
About her music, many people still really rave.
When I hear her songs played on the radio,
Deep in my heart, I feel a really warm glow.
To her talent, many artistes still pay tribute.
Many a singer, her style of song, does suit.
She had massive hit after hit over her many years:
The sentiments, of which, still bring me to tears.
If she were still alive today, I think she’d be amazed,
How popular she still is and how much her songs are played.
She was just a normal, ordinary, middle class girl,
Who became one of popular music’s precious pearls.
She never let fame and fortune go to her head.
She chose to remain friendly and down to earth instead.
Her songs are ones which you can sing along to,
And you experience such a feeling of joy when you do.
There are a few songs, for which she’s very well-known,
And, in the world of music, these are set firmly in stone.
One of her most famous songs has to be,
‘You Don’t Have To Say You Love Me.’
‘I Only Want To Be With You’ and ‘Son Of A Preacher Man, ’
Are also really firm favourites amongst her many fans.
When on stage, she really gave it her all,
And always appeared to be having a right ball.
She had a real presence whenever on stage,
And with her audience, she really engaged.
She battled serious illness. She was so very brave,
And over ten years on, her fans still visit her grave.
Whether the day brings bright sunshine or showers,
Fans still make their pilgrimage to bring her flowers.
On ‘Dusty Day’, once a year, her fans come together.
In our hearts, she and her music will live on forever.
An entire day is dedicated to the precious memories of her,
And fans recollections of Dusty, once again, are stirred.
Many of her songs are famous world wide,
And when she passed away, many fans cried.
Her music unites fans from across every nation.
She really was a special lady and a real inspiration.
For her iconic style, she was very well-known -
A style which was exclusively hers and hers alone.
Her songs are still as popular today,
As the day she sadly passed away.
She died at the age of fifty nine, so never reached old age.
I wonder if she was alive today, she would still be on stage?
Since she passed away, over ten years have gone by,
But memories of her live on and will never ever die.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Freddy Sez
Bang the pan slowly, for Freddy is dead.
Grasp the spoon firmly in hand.
Aim for the Shamrock that graces the pot
That for years Freddy used at home stands
Retire the signs so colorfully made
That he used to urge his Yankees on.
Sheppard is dead, Steinbrenner’s gone
Freddy Sez follows behind.
From the time he retired till the day that he died
He faithfully followed his team.
He outlasted the House Ruth brought in being
A twenty eighth win was his dream.
He wandered the stands from bleachers to field
With the pan and his colorful signs
Has any among us not handled the spoon?
Will anyone bid him goodbye?
Freddy Schulman 'Freddy Sez' passed on 10/17/2010. He was a fixture at Yankee home games from 1988-2010
He left us on a travel day.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Taking Dad to a Game
The Polo Grounds, when the Field’s first seen
are a most magical shade of green.
Hand in hand, me and my Dad
head for our seats in the right field stands.
It’s the Cincinnati Reds in town
to play the New York Mets.
There’s a double header scheduled,
How much better could it get?
Cincinnati took the first game
by a score of three to nil.
My hot dog was delicious
Dad had a beer to swill.
The nightcap was a wild affair
The Mets won thirteen- twelve.
You could look it up, as Casey said,
if you should care to delve.
We rode the subway home that night
side by side, me and my Dad.
We reminisced about the game
Like the most knowledgeable fans
The Q44 from Flushing took us
up Queensboro Hill, ,
past Carvel and Booth Memorial,
I remember it well still.
My father turned to look at me
as five decades creased my brow.
Making us the self same age
What he was then, so I am now.
Thirty years, about, its been
Since last I saw my Dad.
The dead don't get to baseball games,
Which I think is rather sad.
They can't enjoy a summer night
on the wrong side of the grass.
And an ice cold beer is greatly missed-
They can't pour themselves a glass
In memory, we still can walk
With those who came before.
So I took my Dad to a baseball game
What was I waiting for?
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Singer/Songwriter (Leddra Chapman)
(This poem was inspired by the singer/songwriter, Leddra Chapman.)
This singer songwriter, of only nineteen years of age,
Is met by warm applause, as she takes to the stage.
She acknowledges her fans and bids them a cheery ‘hello.’
This evening, she’s accompanied by keyboard and cello.
As she stands on stage, tuning her guitar,
She still can’t believe that she has come this far.
She soon launches into her first song.
Her fans join in and joyously sing along.
With her audience, she happily interacts.
Fans, into every venue, she manages to pack.
She is able to light up an entire room,
When, all around us is doom and gloom.
Her outfit gives her a slightly hippie appearance,
Which, with her long blonde hair, gives her endearance.
Her manner is easy and light.
Her smile always beams so bright.
She often plays at small, intimate venues,
But quite a few festivals, she’s played at to.
She’s still studying at music school,
But, already, her music is considered really cool.
Her first album has already been released.
Soon, there’ll be a second. Another musical feast!
Her songs have often been played on Radio Two,
And she’s also been on TV, singing and doing interviews.
This young lady who’s still up and coming,
Stands with her guitar, her fingers gently strumming.
At the end of her set, she and her band take their bows.
The applause from the audience is extremely loud.
After finishing one of her wonderful shows,
She’s happy to sign autographs and pose for photos.
She’s one singer, who will never grow too big for her boots,
As she stays down to earth and remembers her humble roots.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Just Some Names Of Sports Legends
The G A A fans have their own heroes of for to sing
In Gaelic Football Mick O Connell in Hurling Christy Ring
In Boxing Sugar Ray Robinson knew of Worldwide fame
And Babe Ruth's lives on as a great Baseball name
In Soccer Maradona and Pele and George Best
Were never found to be wanting when put to the test
And in Tennis Maureen Connolly the legendary Little Mo
The greatest of her time six decades ago
The A F L fans have Leigh Matthews for to talk about
Their game's greatest player though that not without doubt
And golf has Norman, Nicklaus, Woods, Watson and Gary Player
Of their game's major honours they took the lion's share
And athletics have Nurmi and Zatopek, Owens and Flo Jo
Legends that most sports fans of surely would know.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Farewell To
Farewell to the young women I used to know
When I was a younger man decades ago
Some of them are ageing grandmothers today
And some of them childless and single did stay.
Farewell to the first feelings of love I knew
Though the one that I loved to another was true
She did not know I loved her 'twas better that way
Since I've always found words like 'I love you' so hard for to say.
Farewell to my childhood friends the girls and the boys
We had fun together and we played with our toys
We grew up too quickly and got to know care
And we found out about life in the big World out there.
Farewell to the Town Park where we played football
An old memory fading that's nice to recall
Still in my flights of fancy the old Town I see
Though life in the old Town goes on without me.
To the old stream that flowed by my old home a tearful farewell
And those old fields that will long outlive my doggerel
And on the leafy hedgerows in the prime of Spring
The songbirds of Nature did whistle and sing.
Farewell to the past since the past is long gone
And without me life in the old Townland goes on
But fond memories of my boyhood years with me remain
And I often go back down memory lane.
poem by Francis Duggan
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I played in Joe Louis in a playoff game. I played there when the roof caved in for half a season. The facility is great for basketball because it goes straight up, so you feel like the fans are on top of you.
quote by Bill Laimbeer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My message to the kids and our fans is hockey's a great game. There's a lot of hockey being played at all levels. Get involved, do it. We will be back and we will be back better than ever and hopefully as soon as possible. Don't give up on the game. It's too good.
quote by Gary Bettman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I have had fans make me the big picture collages of the photo books; I have had fans send me birthday cakes... sing to me on my voicemail. I have had fans flash me. I have had older fans give me their bras and underwear onstage.
quote by Puff Daddy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Voices of the Fans
It is only 38 degrees here in the windy city on this first day of April. If you go by just the weather you can’t even tell that this is the 20th day of spring. Well I know it springs from the sounds my ears hear. Not bees buzzing or birds chirping but the voices of the fan. The fans of America’s greatest past time baseball. The excitement and hope in each fans’ voice as the season begins. Fans Argue with one another but not in anger but in fun defending their team. Every fans a manger and know exactly what their team needs to win. Yeah the weather might make it feel like it is still winter but the voices of the fans lets me know it is spring.
I'm A Fan
It’s football season again
I hope my team does well this year
Football season again
I’m a fan
It’s football season again
Spread that ball across the field
Football season again
I’m a fan
Through the cold and the rain
I’ll be there at the game
A voice screaming to be heard
I’ll cry sometimes, sometimes I’ll smile
As my voice echoes through the crowd
I’m a fan, I’m a fan, I’m a fan
It’s football season again
I hope my team does well this year
Football season again
I’m a fan
It’s football season again
Tackle hard and play it fair
Football season again
I’m a fan
And at the end of the year
We’ll be dressed in the gear
As they turn to salute the crowd
And we’ll stand with pride
‘Cause they’re our side
And we’ll sing their praises loud
We’re the fans, We’re the fans, We’re the fans
Copyright Colin Coplin 2004 / 2010
poem by Colin Coplin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Music Festival
The beat of the music goes THUD! THUD! THUD!
As revellers dance around, ankle deep, in thick, gooey mud.
Bedecked in waterproofs and their designer Wellington boots,
The festival goers are all having themselves a right old hoot.
Famous bands have been booked to headline.
The organisers pray that the weather stays fine.
Revellers of every age – both young and old,
Are wrapped up against the wild wind, so cold.
The fans sway from side to side and wave their hands,
As they sing along at the tops of their voices to the bands.
Some fans are here to see their favourite bands in the flesh,
While others want to check out talent, that’s new and fresh.
Despite the mud, there’s a smile on every face
Of the fans who, each year, flock to this place.
Some girls wear pretty flowers in their hair.
At their heroes on stage, they stand and stare.
The singer on stage, stands and sings famous hit after hit,
As the drummer behind him, bashes away on the drum kit.
Heard are the strains of electro-acoustic and bass guitars.
To be here, many bands and their fans have travelled far.
Everyone really looks forward to this wonderful weekend,
When they can listen to wicked sounds and make new friends.
Fans sing along at the top of the voices, until they croak.
The rain falls down again, and the poor fans get soaked.
Everyone is feeling happy and spirits are riding really high,
Despite the fact, not a single fan has managed to stay very dry.
Girls jump up and down and wildly scream.
Their perfectly made-up faces excitedly beam.
As evening falls and we head on into the inky night,
Mobile phones are held aloft and there’s a sea of light.
By the end of the night, everyone’s feeling drained,
But they’ll return tomorrow, ready to do it all again!
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Twenty Seven!
We entered last night at gate four,
the precious tickets in our hands.
The Anthem’s ending drowned in cheers
as we took seats high in the stands.
“Godzilla “had a monster night.
He was a one man wrecking crew.
Pedro couldn’t get him out.
Nothing really he could do.
Here and there the Phillies tried
To stage a rally, beat the best.
But Andy always held them down
while pitching on just three days rest.
When “enter Sandman” starts to play
It’s like a Frank Sinatra score:
Game over for the Phillies’ reign
They weren’t coming back, down four.
A happy meeting at the mound,
once Victorino grounded out
As coaches, players stormed the field
from the first base side dugout.
Flags and pennants, banners wave
And Modell’s opens up the store
Faithful fans behold the prize
Like early Christians filled with awe.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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