Polo Grounds, 1912 World Series by Bain News Service

2008 "PLAY BALL" WRITING CONTEST WINNER

The House that Ruth Built by Liz Dolan
His once slender waist now bulges like
the Babe’s, too many center-cut pork chops
and home-grown spuds. On his forearm, a tattoo,

POETRY

Gehrig's Grace by Skip Shea
The luckiest man
on the face of the earth
has turned ghost
and carries a Jacob Marley mourn

Self-Portrait as Miss Macho by Caroline DePalma
a world made for punching walls since I can’t punch
those who claim to protect her, since I can’t punch everyone

Cool by Robert Ross
But I had no more an idea how to be cool
than to hit home runs like Mickey Mantle.
Cool was something about the way
she wore makeup now and slouched, hopeful,

Buy Me Some Peanuts... by Janet A. Shainheit
And God?
He’d switch to another cab. 
I’ve got old bones, Jack, He says.
I like the heat.

Brisbane, 1975 by Roger Bonair-Agard
In the stands, the sea of faces
burned to a pink under their wide-brim hats
is quiet and confused pretending
they haven’t heard

Running Bases by Guy LeCharles Gonzalez
the house that Jackson, Nettles, Randolph and Dent built
less than a mile away beamed into
12-inch black and white mirrors

Pinstripe Suits by Larry Jaffe
But all I wanted was to wear a Yankee uniform,
put spikes on my feet, run the infield, slide into home,
Grace the house that Ruth built, DiMaggio reigned
and Mantle owned.

South Bronx Stickball Bats by J.T. Clark
Upward, through the tomato pot bramble,
And well ahead of her roman candle,
He’d flee with Miss Mafucci’s mop handle.

ESSAYS

Watching Baseball with My Son and Grandson by Wayne Scheer
While Jess and I spit statistics, like two ten-year-olds with a little knowledge, Conley babbles something about his kindergarten teacher and the number seventeen.  He completes his discourse with the word, "pineapple," as he often does.  It's his favorite word.  He doesn't particularly care for the fruit, but he loves the word.

REVIEWS

The Bronx is Burning by Jonathan Mahler
As its back cover states, Ladies and Gentlemen, the Bronx Is Burning is literally "a kaleidoscopic portrait of New York City in 1977," as Jonathan Mahler ambitiously weaves together New York City's major stories of that surprisingly pivotal year into a dizzying collage of information and insight that is ever-so-slightly less than the sum of its parts.

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