Missing You Big Luke Poem by Luke Easter

Baseball you loved with all your heart,
Although it made mush of some body parts,
Seemed like that sport consumed you more,
Even long after it showed you the door.

Surely years on end and time after time,
You promoted the game on your own dime,
While less qualified others climbed the ladder,
You were happy for them instead of sadder.

A job you had to work for but not in that field,
Always for someone else you had to yield,
Still through it all with a smile on your face,
While they laughed for putting you in your place.

Smiling themselves all the way to the bank,
They never cared due to racial hate,
You were OK long as you could play,
Then came the day they sent you away.

Yet there was no bitterness in your heart,
You were very happy for the little small part,
Not having the juiced ball and steroids hour,
Setting your records with God given power.

June 23,1950 four hundred seventy-seven feet,
Wow! What an awesome, magnificent treat,
Not on television as it was to far in the past,
Hal Lebovitz personally measured that blast.

But, oh hell no, a homerun record, this could not be,
We'll take care of this mess, bam, fastball to the knee,
Now lets see you muster that power on just one wheel,
Not an intentional walk as forever they closed the deal.

Every now and then The Plain Dealer will carry a story,
About past baseball accomplishments and glory,
However, no matter how long or short the feature,
They still have to mention the name of Luke Easter.

It's approaching thirty-two years since you passed,
Baseball broke your heart but you didn't let it last,
On a day 38 special magnum bullet pierced your heart,
For the Cleveland Indians you were still doing your part.

Mogul corporations have taken over the deal,
All they can take plus whatever they can steal,
2nd class enthusiasm in the major's not so fast,
And yet still charging the fans first class cash.

Now do not get me wrong there are still many greats in the game,
Some are satisfied with ho-hum performance just write my name,
Because I still get paid whether I'm playing or sitting on the bench,
And so those with attitude should get paid the smell of their stench.

Over 60 years ago you played a sport for love of the game,
Drugs, scandals, free agency, mediocre players, it's not the same,
Don't be upset dad because that's not the worst part of all,
Would you believe they still have the nerve to call the game baseball?

Oops, hold your horses dad there's still one thing more,
This sport called baseball is now bigger that ever before,
Yep, a lot has happened since you reined in your day,
And I'll bet even knowing all this again you'd still play.

There is a lot of talk going around about honor but it's not true,
From those who never experienced your walk in just one shoe,
Deep south Mississippi that fight from the first breath to the last,
It did not matter because you looked forward forgiving the past.

3/29/1979 Cleveland Trust Bank, armed robbers, under attack,
Refusing to hand over the money, as always you fought back,
You never ran away from anything and so you would not hide,
Life was a constant struggle so it's fitting that's how you died.

Some of the biggest, highest paid stars on occasion refuse to hustle,
And others rely on performance enhancing drugs instead of muscle,
Many sign a long-term contract & then decide it is too long to wait,
They whine and refuse to play unless management will renegotiate.

However, it's not just baseball there is football and basketball too,
Where many of these guys will make more just by wearing a shoe,
A lot of them have to be called by something other than their name,
Whatever happened to playing sports for the, "Love of the Game? "

The Indians are in the World Series for 2016,
Yes, this is for real and no, it is not a dream,
This team expands the classic into the fall,
And they've put the game back in baseball.

There's no I in team so no perennial All-Star,
Collectively as a group they've gone this far,
No one player to carry the team on his back,
Still, offense and defense there is no lack.

There are no whiners so order no cheese,
More than enough honey for all the bees,
Not one single player crying foul out loud,
Baseball players that can make you proud.

Respected front office, a manager to match,
Players who know how to hit, throw & catch,
Chicago has equal enthusiasm for the game,
A worthy opponent with no standout name.

The fans never gave up knowing one day,
America's pastime would once again play,
Despite the selfishness that sent it astray,
The brainchild of General Abner Doubleday.