TONIGHT'S THE NIGHT

TONIGHT'S THE NIGHT
Tonight's moon phase: WANING CRESCENT

FIFTY THOUSAND MOONS

Sunday, April 3, 2016

If you hear something, say something: Announcing the 2016 John Sterling Spoken Poetry Project

A long, long time ago - we were practically in diapers, (as we soon will be again) - Mustang and conceived "O Holy Cow: The Selected Verse of Phil Rizzuto," a poetry collection captured from Yankee broadcasts. It's still out there. The book was simple: We wrote down Scooter's words, arranged them into verse form and - Voila! - Sylvia Plath without the oven! I believe the book captured Rizzuto's poetic soul: With a game going, he was at peace. With a game going, Phil was Phil.

In recent years, I've wondered if John Sterling could be the next Phil. I'm not sure. There are glaring differences. The Master is a professional announcer - not an ex-jock. John hasn't missed a Yankee game in his entire broadcasting career, and he never misses an in-game promo. What he does miss are calls - (see title of blog) - but miscues are not poetry. If you take what The Master says, write it down, and carefully arranged it into verse... will you have poetry?

I still don't know.

(Wait a minute: Let's be clear: In the eyes of actual poets, of course, it's NOT poetry. Trouble is, poets are the worst thing that ever happened to poetry. They have made us think that poetry can only be written by fat old drunkards, glaring feminists, and scrawny hipsters - all who share two things: The ego to be a self-proclaimed poet... and an academic grant. Their hatred for the poetry of Phil Rizzuto did - and always will - run hotter than a billion suns. Fuck them. Most are Redsock or Met fans, anyway.) 

I say: If it quacks like a poem, it's a fucking poem, asshole. This is a free country, right? The poem police haven't yet kicked in our door with their jack-booted sneakers. And 2016 is the year we should find once and for all if the poetry of John Sterling exists.

So that's my Official Project. Right now, the Yankees look too boring and lame to ponder 162 times, without a filter. (If they win, that would change.) Instead of studying the Yankees, we're going to try and study the poetic universe of John and Suzyn...  and we need your help.

During a game, if you hear John wander off topic, or say something crazy, or brilliant, or anything that tweaks your Sterling Sense... drop us a comment. Try to remember the game situation, or any game detail that helps us find it. "John went off on celebrity autobiographies, fifth inning, Pedroia up..." something like that. I'll find it. 

If you hear something, say something. 

I invite you to join us. Who knows? We might find poetry in an otherwise dead Yankiverse. The ownership hasn't put forth an interesting team. I say it's up to the fans... because as much as we are reviled, I believe Yankee fans have always been the greatest of all.  

So... let's salvage this season. Let's find The Poetry of The Master.

9 comments:

Local Bargain Jerk said...


If someone someday rearranges El Duque's blog posts into verse form and publishes them as a book of poetry, this needs to be the epigraph:

    I say:
    If it quacks like a poem,
    it's a fucking poem,

    asshole.



Ken of Brooklyn said...

BRILLIANT LBJ>>>> It Is High, It Is Far, It Is,,,,,,, Haiku!

And BRILLIANT El Duque!
Finally a reason to stay tuned when their down by 3 in the 6th!

John M said...

LBJ, I think you've just earned the right to edit The Poetry of El Duque.

Alphonso said...

And now, we all have the idea.

Beauregard Jackson Pickett Burnside said...

We'd get more poetry is Suzyn stopped interrupting. Sorry John, Sorry John... I don't know the song but Sorry John is the chorus.

Mr. Layman said...

"John, check your stat pack that's right in front of you, you dummy."

Beauregard Jackson Pickett Burnside said...

I think the poems might require concatenation of fragments.

Just now John thought didi deserved first even though he struck out on a wild pitch... And said "It isn't fair Mister Doubleday". I have no idea what that means... But if you are writing a poem on the unfairness of baseball, there's your title.

Mr. Layman said...

"The Yankees,
By book or by crook,
must score this run;
They've loaded the bases
on two walks and a catcher's interference,
which you don't see for months!"

Mr. Layman said...

In the game against the Orioles, Wednesday, May 4th:
(1) In the bottom of the 2nd, John said something about a "jab job", poking the ball for a hit the other way. Sounded really funny the way he said it.
(2) In the top of the 6th, when Ellsbury stole a base, John got so excited he said "One Swell Foop" instead of one fell swoop.

I don't know what he said after, but those were two good moments from tonight's game, if you can find the audio for them.