Fanaticism?No.Writing is exciting
and baseball is like writing.
 You can never tell with either
how it will go
or what you will do;
 generating excitement--
 a fever in the victim--
 pitcher, catcher, fielder, batter.
	Victim in what category?
Owlman watching from the press box?
	To whom does it apply?
	Who is excited?Might it be I?

It's a pitcher's battle all the way--a duel--
a catcher's, as, with cruel
 puma paw, Elston Howard lumbers lightly
back to plate.(His spring 
de-winged a bat swing.)
 They have that killer instinct;
 yet Elston--whose catching
 arm has hurt them all with the bat--
	when questioned, says, unenviously,
 "I'm very satisfied.We won."
	Shorn of the batting crown, says, "We";
	robbed by a technicality.

When three players on a side play three positions
and modify conditions,
 the massive run need not be everything.
"Going, going . . . "Is
it?Roger Maris
 has it, running fast.You will
 never see a finer catch.Well . . .
 "Mickey, leaping like the devil"--why
	gild it, although deer sounds better--
snares what was speeding towards its treetop nest,
	one-handing the souvenir-to-be
	meant to be caught by you or me.

Assign Yogi Berra to Cape Canaveral;
he could handle any missile.
 He is no feather."Strike! . . . Strike two!"
Fouled back.A blur.
It's gone.You would infer
 that the bat had eyes.
 He put the wood to that one.
Praised, Skowron says, "Thanks, Mel.
 I think I helped a little bit."
	All business, each, and modesty.
Blanchard, Richardson, Kubek, Boyer.
	In that galaxy of nine, say which
	won the pennant?Each.It was he.

Those two magnificent saves from the knee-throws
by Boyer, finesses in twos--
 like Whitey's three kinds of pitch and pre-
diagnosis
with pick-off psychosis.
 Pitching is a large subject.
 Your arm, too true at first, can learn to
 catch your corners--even trouble
	Mickey Mantle.("Grazed a Yankee!
My baby pitcher, Montejo!"
	With some pedagogy,
	you'll be tough, premature prodigy.)

They crowd him and curve him and aim for the knees.Trying
indeed!The secret implying:
 "I can stand here, bat held steady."
One may suit him;
 none has hit him.
 Imponderables smite him.
 Muscle kinks, infections, spike wounds
 require food, rest, respite from ruffians.(Drat it!
	Celebrity costs privacy!)
Cow's milk, "tiger's milk," soy milk, carrot juice,
	brewer's yeast (high-potency--
	concentrates presage victory

sped by Luis Arroyo, Hector Lopez--
deadly in a pinch.And "Yes,
 it's work; I want you to bear down,
but enjoy it
while you're doing it."
 Mr. Houk and Mr. Sain,
 if you have a rummage sale,
 don't sell Roland Sheldon or Tom Tresh.
	Studded with stars in belt and crown,
the Stadium is an adastrium.
	O flashing Orion,
	your stars are muscled like the lion.