The Pecan Park Eagle

Near the low eight foot ceiling – on my kid bedroom wall,

Was the face of hope rising – and also its fall.

The black and white outcomes – in sin and sweet grace,

Were both in the box scores – Buffs gain or lose pace.

With heroes named Larry – Jerry, Solly, and Frank,

We were – the Gang Knothole – a Baseball Joy Bank.

We came early for BP – and infield – and fungo,

Want a name funny? – Try Van Lingle Mungo!

And out in left field – was an old Cub Named Lou,

Whose Russian surname – dubbed him Novikoff too.

He once left his game spot – when nature did call,

He got back too late – to field a fair ball,

And the Knothole Gang stands – had the best view of all.

And TV Buff games – on those ten-inch home screens,

Played like baseball as “Pong” – if you know what that means.

The struck ball did scurry – like a blurry white light,

Til a fielder got to it – so far from our sight.

But with only one camera – and no replay view,

Radio remained – as the best mind’s eye brew.

Sometimes a sick season – hit the cellar door skids,

As losses in big piles – invariably did.

“L”s held up Buff fans – from coming to games,

To see the same stories – so old – and so lame.

So Prexy Allen Russell – dressed the Buffs out in shorts.

As Jerry Witte – at first – shows obligingly here,

The fad would fade faster – than that sad ’50 year.

51 years long past – the summer shorts ruse,

Jerry Witte wasn’t singing – the summertime blues,

He threw out a first pitch – for the Astros. – for fun.

And who was his catcher? – Roy Oswalt’s – the one.

Buffalos, Colts, and Astros too – this one’s forever – because it’s all true.

Early Houston Baseball – we love you – soul deep,

With reams of real joy – and scads of sad weep.

Let the record show clearly – that your history – we keep.

For history needs warriors – not pastoral sheep.

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 By Bill McCurdy, February 3, 2016.