A Jar of Baseball Dreams

Every home should have one to be opened in spring
A jar that sits on the table full of baseball dreams

Inside will be found there pennants and things
The smell of fresh cut grass and pinstriped rings
A pair of old tickets to the game never played,
Do you remember how cold it was on that day?

There’s a pork and bean supper to raise money for the team
Equipment is hard to come by, with times looking lean

First practice on Monday,
the snap of a brand spanking new hat
A bag full of baseballs, helmets and bats

The old man that taught you to stand firm and tall
To swing when your eyes meet the seams of the ball

The signal is given, the ball it is thrown
When you’re stealing home, you go it alone

Your best friend’s on second, Johnny’s on third
The chatter of the dugout seems quite absurd

You step to the plate, tap the corner and smile
Heck, the scoreboard behind left field is only a mile

The pitcher winds up and shifts the ball
He’s throwing missiles, he’s a St. Louis south paw
The smell of a hardball searing a leather mitt
The crowd in the stadium rarely sits

Nothing quite like it, the crack of a bat
A Louisville Slugger does just that
Deep in the pocket, just out of reach
Placed between center and right field, the coach he did teach

The final game is now over, the runners came home
Victory is sweet when you knock them from their throne

Hot dogs and sodas bought by your grandpa
He’s springing for the team, they’re in awe

That night you sleep well, like a St. Louis king
Playing for the Cardinals has that certain ring
As the jar on the table awaits next spring
The jar that is full of baseball dreams

Home
Top of Pg.
Archives

He that holds fast the golden mean, And lives contentedly between, The little and the great, Feels not the wants that pinch the poor, Nor plagues that haunt the rich man’s door, Embittering all his state.

— Cowper