When I find myself in times of trouble
Marco Scutaro comes to me
He never makes an out
Or an error
He always does what is right
Like that back-up relay to get Fielder at the plate.
If we elect him Pope I will become Catholic
Besides we need a South American Pope
Who has occasional power.
Imagine "Pope goes three for four in rout."
But seriously, he hardly ever even misses the ball.
What is everyone else doing missing the ball
While Marco Scutaro maybe sainthood
Would be more appropriate keeps
Fouling off those nasty sliders,
Connecting, getting the ball in play?
My life will never be the same
Because of Marco Scutaro I keep trying
To exhort the crowd to call his name
One name from each side of the stadium
In series, first "Marco," then "Scutaro" As loud and large as a name could be.
But my voice is small, and also I am in
My den watching television so some might say
I have lost objectivity.
This of course is the beauty of sports
And most of all baseball
Where a small
And quiet man can learn a skill
And steadily, stealthily creep into the lives
Of ten million crazy fans
us all and with
and time again.
Bob Stanley, former Sacramento poet laureate, is a professor of English at California State University, Sacramento.