The Clubhouse Tales

With many apologies to Geoffrey Chaucer

General Prologue.

When April’s gentle rains have pierced the frost

And warmed the piles of snow into lukewarm slush;

When the sun begins to timidly turn the earth

Soft again so that growing things begin their rebirth

(And with it the pricking of every Midwestern heart),

The yearly pilgrimage then some folks desire to start

Towards dormant Fields and Stadiums where

Baseball and spring both fill the gentle air.

A particular shrine renowned through the Land

Of Lake and Crooked River do its folks through streets and highways wend:

To seek their summer heroes is their will,

The ones who may at last salve their ills.

Now in that season it befell one day

At the suburban Motel where I lay,

As I was all prepared for driving out

To Cleveland with a heart devout,

There had come into that place at night

Some twenty-five (or twenty-six if CBA is signed)

Sundry men, baseball players all

Who were staying, downtown being their next port of call.

Tomorrow they would ride for the Field and begin

The game that would start their season.

The rooms were comfortable and spacious,

But humble enough for them to be anonymous,

So for one night I sat among them, talking openly about

The years and games of old, of hits and outs.

I spoke with each about their coming journey

Of hopes of once again playing the October tourney,

But also hints of other things completely unknown

To me, a man who while very much grown

Still could not fathom how much fallow time

Was allotted them, a strange paradigm

Of stress then nothingness

Of very much and then much less

That these athletes were expected to endure.

And so, my interest being piqued, and having imbibed

Enough spirits to speak my mind,

I asked the athletic company of how they overcame

The gulf between game and game.

The leader of the club smiled and, taking me aside

Told me of the secret that kept morale so high,

“We have a running contest in which tales are told

By each player both young and old.

And whoever tells the most interesting tale each day

Gets the first crack at dinner after the game.

Each time the contest conditions changes just a bit;

One day it might be originality, the next it might be wit.

But whatever the rules might be the outcome is the same:

Laughs and smiles, tears and much acclaim.”

I wished aloud that I could hear this for myself one time

To hear the players inventing prose and rhyme.

But I thanked him for his honesty, and then the hour being late,

Headed for my room, for next morn’s meeting was at eight.

While I slept, dark clouds crept over our abode

As it stole to the north over all the main roads

So that by morning the sky was gray – no – black.

It was a still and somber day as I drove to my 8 o’clock.

Then wind began to blow, and curses! Rain started to fall

Deluging the Field with puddles and casting a pall

Over the planned festivities.

Because the crowd was to be great, the ballpark activities

Were postponed until the morrow. This I learned

As I returned from my early sojourn,

My business being completed for the day.

I arrived to a room full of players whose joy had gone astray,

Their faces downcast, having to wait for their anticipated debut

Another 24 hours stuck in this comfortable but confining venue.

The leader of the group, remembering what I had said last night,

Suddenly raised his voice above the somber din

“Fellows, I know the skies won’t let our season begin

On time, and we’ll have to wait just a bit more,

And let’s use this time to not to watch TV and be bored

But tell some tales and raise our spirits so that tomorrow

When we take the field it will be with a joyous glow.

Today’s contest will be judged by this guy here,

(You remember him from last night’s beers),

And whoever tells the most astounding and amusing tale

Will have tonight’s dinner paid for by us all.

If this plan appeals to all of you, speak now

For if it does, let’s begin in one hour!”

To this there was unanimous assent, with none heartier than me,

For what I wished last night to hear one day was now to be.