Once upon a time, before it became the Paris edition of the New York Times, the International Herald Tribune published its late sports editor Dick Roraback’s ode to baseball’s opening day each year.
Under the fold, “The Crack of the Bat.”
(The fifth stanza is current again, after reflecting a bygone age for more than three decades. The Buc and the Nat refer to the Pittsburgh Pirates [buccaneers] and the Washington Nationals. In 1971, major league baseball left Washington, not returning until last season when the relocated Montreal Expos became the new Nationals. The fields in the stanza, Forbes and Griffith, are long gone. Forbes’ replacement is also gone, and Griffith’s replacement’s replacement is moving from drawing board to construction site this year.)
Away on this side of the ocean
When the chestnuts are hinting of green
And the first of the cafe commandos
Are moving outside for a fine
And the sound of spring beats a bolero
As Paree sheds her coat and her hat
The sound that is missed more than any
Is the sound of the crack of a bat.
There’s an animal kind of feeling
There’s a stirring down at Vincennes Zoo
And the kid down the hall’s getting restless
Taking stairs like a young kangaroo
Now the dandy is walking his poodle
And the concierge sunning her cat
But the heart’s with the Cubs and the Tigers
And the sound of the crack of a bat.
In the park on the corner run schoolboys
With a couple of cartons for props
Kicking goals a la Fontaine or Kopa
While a little guy chikies for cops
“Goal for us,” “No it’s not,” “You’re a liar,”
Then the classical shrieks of a spat
But it’s not like a rhubarb at home plate
Or the sound of the crack of a bat.
Here the stadia thrill to the scrumdowns
And the soccer fans flock to the games
And the chic punt the nags out a Longchamp
Where the women are dames and not dames
But it’s different at Forbes and at Griffith
The homes of the Buc and the Nat
Where the hotdog and peanut share laurels
With the sound of the crack of a bat.
No, a Yank can’t describe to a Frenchman
The rasp of an umpire’s call
The continuing charms of statistics
Changing hist’ry with each strike and ball
Nor the self-conscious jog of the slugger
Rounding third with the tip of his hat
Nor the half-smothered grace of a hook slide
Nor the sound of the crack of a bat.
Now, the golfer is buffing his niblick
And the tennis buff’s tightening his strings
And the fisherman’s flexing his flyrod
Like a thousand and one other springs
Oh, the sports on both sides of the ocean
Have a great deal in common, at that
But the thing that’s not HERE
At this time of the year
Is the sound of the crack of a bat.
Alas, for all its storied history baseball’s popularity seems to be on a slow but steady decline in America, especially among young people. It’s having increasing trouble competing with trendier sports like football and basketball and NASCAR. And the recent steriod scandals certainly haven’t helped.
It’s a bit poor that the Herald Tribune no longer seems to know that the Louvre isn’t at the Place de la Bastille.
The “Nat” in the poem does not refer to the Washington Nationals, which didn’t exist at the time, but to the Washington Senators (nicknamed the “Nats”). They moved to suburban Dallas in 1971 and became the Texas Rangers.
Actually, it’s even more complicated than that, which is why I was ambiguous in the post. The first Washington club was officially known as the Nationals, but were nicknamed the Senators. They decamped for Minnesota in 1961, and Washington was awarded an expansion franchise to start in the 1962 season. This club was officially known as the Washington Senators, but often called the Nats. This is the club that then left for DFW in 1971 and became the Rangers.
The real kicker is that I can’t find out exactly when the poem was written. The sources that Google turns up are not more specific than early 1960s. So it’s not clear if he was writing about the Nationals (known as the Senators) or the Senators (known as the Nationals), depending on just how early 1960s we are actually talking about.
Peter doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Baseball has never been more popular. Attendence records have been broken in the past couple of years. The World Baseball Classic really caught the attention of Americans and was quite popular – ESPN ratings were way up during it.
This poem got me through the two Opening Days in my life that I missed while traversing the streets of the Old World. Thanks for reposting.