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Baseball Is Broken

When the owners are all racist scum, & the vocal players are all entitled villains, why do we even care? A poem for the sport I used to love

This image is in the Public Domain.

Baseball Is Broken

Estimated Reading Time: 1 Minutes

Baseball Is Broken

In a sport that allows no ties

Is it really a surprise

That there can be no compromise?

Shots constantly fired across the other’s brow

“Don’t disrupt the cash cow”

Baseball is Broken

It is past time

For America’s Pastime to realize time

is moving on without them.

When we were kids

We had The Kid

Now there’s just this idiot

Baseball is Broken

Labor disputes amongst the wealthy few

“We don’t want to play for you” is met with

“We don’t

want to

pay you”

And its only the fans who lose.

Baseball is Broken

For The Love Of The Game is nothing more than a movie title now and

The Sport’s about as serious as

Major League.

Sandlots and stickball have

Become “DH…

or nothing at all”

Strawman arguments with both sides to blame

Neither side listening or willing to compromise

The cliff is in the distance

Hurry up and decide


Or Out?

What are they even arguing about?




Baseball is broken

When the people who use the game as means of a better way out are met with “learn better English or get out…” What are we even doing here. Isn’t this sport supposed to be an escape? Fun? Different from everything else?

The gap between the “Haves” and the “Have-nots” is widening and the “Haves” are too busy trying to create subclass amongst themselves to even notice.

Or care.

Quick that last sentence there… is it about baseball?

Or America?

They say that good theatre has the ability to

“hold as ’twere the mirror up to nature:
to show virtue her feature, scorn her own
image, and the very age and body of the time his form and

Baseball was once America’s Theatre, and maybe it still is,

Because if you look at everything going on outside is it really any wonder…

Baseball is Broken?

Andrew Mark Wilhelm is a professional Sound Engineer/Designer, and amateur photographer, writer, musician who recently relocated from California to Rochester, NY. Born and raised in the suburbs of Detroit has made Andrew an avid fan of all things Detroit but nothing more so than his beloved Detroit Tigers. Every year he tells himself he won't drink the Lions Kool-Aid, and every year winds up heartbroken come January. A Spartan by heart, and a Golden Grizzly by degree, you can catch his (almost) weekly Hot Takes every Hump Day here at The Turf.

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