St. Louis-
A Sports Town:
Poems of the City’s Sports

Introduction
You don’t have to read this. It may bore you I lived in St. Louis
of 13 years and take pride in the sports there. I have written these
poems to a point where part of them are true. I saw Big Mac’s thirty
ninth and fortieth home run (although the fortieth wasn’t in extra
innings or a game-winner). I also saw him up close and fought for
position as he signed autographs, but that day he didn’t hit a home run.

I did really have top row seats at the TWA dome and once I counted
about 280 steps from ground level. As you know the Rams really were
pathetic, but I went anyway, because I loved going. Anyway, the losses
didn’t bug me much; my allegiances have been to the Broncos since long
before the Rams relocated to St. Louis.
I went to very few Blues games, and never to a play-off game. In
fact the Blues haven’t made it to the conference finals since I have
followed them. I never saw the events described, but Twister, or Tony
Twist, did give a lot of players bloody noses.
So now you know how much is fiction. Should you care? Probably
not. I did this because maybe because someone might get curious, and it made my project seem more complete through my eyes. So just readthe
poems.

 

 

 

The Mac Attack
Long before the game commenced,
I scramble through the gate,
At Busch Stadium crowds gather,
For the Mac Attack’s at thirty-eight.
He is signing autographs for a mob,
and I rudely push and shove,
I get a glimpse up close;
As this beast towers above.
He stands at a tall six foot five,
As his colossal muscles swell.
As he reached for another pen,
I gawked, entranced in a spell.
I sat down to watch the game,
Which finally got underway.
As the silver arch in the backdrop glistened,
And fans at last sat down to stay.
The third batter was McGwire,
And the fans gave a thunderous hand.
He blasted a line drive into the blood red seats,
Before the crowd could even stand.
It was an exceptional game,
With spectacular plays on both sides.
But, it boiled down to the twelfth,
On deck Big Mac resides.
This behemoth strode to the plate,
Th bat looks like a toothpick in his hand.
And with two out, one on, down one,
He skies a bomb into Big Mac Land.

 

 

 

 

 

The Woes of the Rams
 

My Father informed me of the oddessy
With which I have to cope.
“What do you mean ‘top row seats’”?
It will be worth it I hope.
I hiked, fatigued, up hundreds of stairs,
And at last plopped into my seat.
I stared blankly, dreaming of the juicy hot dogs
I would soon hastily eat.
The game started efficiently,
with a sixty yard strike by Tony Banks.
Hauling in the pass was Isaac Bruce,
Who looked above as if to say “Thanks.”
The Rams fortune went downhill from there;
As it constantly does and always will,
For the team, with a few exceptions,
Lack something we frequently term ‘skill.’
They threw interceptions, allowed big plays,
And hey! He fumbled the ball!
Even when up fourteen at half time,
They nevertheless managed to fall.
Why watch such a dismal team?
It seems a sports god lures from above.
We are diehard fans who want no more
Than to watch the sport we love.

 

 

 

 

 

Sudden Death
 
Gliding smoothly across the glazed ice,
The players are warming up.
As the winner of this game seven
Plays for the Stanley Cup.
Finally the ref drops the puck,
And the game is underway.
Some players complain of cheap shots,
But, the refs just let them play.
Oh! That was a ferocious hit,
Brutally slammed to the solid ice.
“Ref! That was a vicious slash!
Not just once but, twice!”
The gloves were thrown down; a fight.
Claude Lemieux got a bloody nose.
While ‘Twister’ stood overhead,
Claude’s nostrils looked like a hose.
As the fans call the ref blind,
Someone discovers some open space.
He gets a pass and is on a breakaway,
And nobody can even give chase.
He deeks left once, then right.
The goalie frolics, draped in pads and sweat.
The fog horn sounds, the gleaming red light twirls;
The jet black puck has found the net.
In sudden death overtime,
Amid near misses and brilliant saves,
A blast finally slid by the exhausted goalie.
The home crowd cheers and raves.

 


 

 The Arch
     I made my way closer to the Arch. The glistening silver landmark, majestic and
commanding, towered above.  I gawked, standing within one hundred yards of the gleaming
structure.  It appeared to have a streak of white metal where the rays of sun bounced off
the exterior and directly into my eyes.  Around the arch was an emerald field of freshly cut
grass.  Nearby was the Riverfront, where the amber water of the mammoth,  mighty
Mississippi River swiftly flowed.
     On the grassy plain, people were playing and enjoying the beautiful day.  As I glanced
around, I saw some people flying a kite, which looked like a butterfly caught on a string.  It
seemed to flutter helplessly as to attempt escape.  It reminded me of Sunset Beach in North
Carolina, where I last flew a kite.  Behind me I heard a giggling and a shout; “You're it!”
Before I turned I knew some children were running around, playing tag.  Some were close
enough for me to see the sweat soaking their shirts.    I then realized that the St. Louis
humidity and sweltering heat was catching up with me as well.  Wiping the cool beads
sweat off my brow, I craved something cold.  I pulled my shirt away from my body since it
was
sticky with moisture, and proceeded to an ice cream shop.  The frigid, creamy, vanilla ice
cream satisfied my taste buds.  I hastily wolfed  it down. Then came a sudden pain in my
head as my brain temporarily froze over.   Still not satisfied, I ordered a Coke to quench
my thirst and to cool the rest of my body.  The carbonation softly pricked the inside of my
mouth as I began to down the soft drink.
     I walked closer to the curved, half oval building.  At its triangular base I touched it.  The
metal was smooth but upon leaving my hand there, it stung as if the frame was an electrical
stove, heated by the sun.  After I shook my hand in suprise, I went underground, bought my
ticket, and got in line by the elevator.
     When it was finally my turn, they stuffed five of us in the small white chamber.  Plain
white seats jutted out of the walls.  The air inside was thick, but it wasn't as humid as
outside.  Finally, I felt like I instantly gained 10 pounds, and I knew we were on our way
up.
     Six hundred and thirty feet above ground, I gazed out the cool window at St. Louis
below.  The people that ran across the grass below were just ants from up here.  I looked
into Busch Stadium.  As I looked at the cherry seats, watermelon cut grass, forest green
walls, and sandy brown infield, I remembered the Cardinal's game  I went to a few days
earlier.  Vacant now, you could actually see the seats, since no fans obstructed the view.  I
could see the city's buildings, a peaceful forest below.
     I went back down and got a hot dog.  Chewing the tender, juicy, beefy dog, I
remembered that I forgot lunch.  After stepping above ground for the first time in an hour, I
was reminded of the repressive heat of the sun.  It was shattered briefly by a sudden
breeze, which ruffled the leaves in the trees and tried to yank the kite away from its
owners.  The kids were still running around; I heard the soft pat-pat-PAT getting louder,
coming very close to me from behind.  Startled, I quickly turned, and he veered to the side.
I smiled, remembering when I was young.  Then, the hectic world seemed so far away.
     It was a pleasant day.  I'd better get home though - school is tomorrow and I haven't
started my homework.

                                                                      by
                                                Kyle Jahner