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I've never noticed that National Library Week, and the beginning of the baseball season often overlap. I would never have associated the two. But this year, partly inspired by a poem by Elaine Pike about Baseball and partly because I wanted to celebrate National Library Week by branching out and reading something to my kids that I wouldn't normally read, I think I've hit a home run. (OK, that was bad. I will leave the baseball imagery to the poet)

The first official National Library Week was launched in 1957 fueled by concern about recent research showing that people were reading less and spending more time listening to the radio, watching TV, or playing musical instruments.

It's just a hunch, but I think there may be a correlation between the results of the research and the fact that in 1956 Elvis Presley appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show, had several hits on the charts including Hound Dog, Don't Be Cruel, Love Me Tender, and Blue Suede Shoes. Wizard of Oz was shown on television for the first time and that was also the year that Don Larson pitched the only perfect game in a World Series.

Phillip Hoose was in fourth grade in 1956 and trying to fit in. He was a huge baseball fan and tried hard to become a good player himself. One of the highlights of his childhood was meeting his cousin, Don Larson who gave him a big hug and introduced him to the Yankees. Hoose did not grow up to play baseball like the cousin he admired so much, but he did grow up to write about it. His book, Perfect Once Removed: When Baseball was all the World to Me, has received rave reviews and is exactly the kind of book I was searching for this week! Oh, and April is National Poetry Month, so with the Hoose's book, Pike's poem and a great opening day, I've got all bases covered.

baseball season
Elaine Pike

crack of the bat
you're outta here
with its full count
and its base stealing
disaster narrowly averted
suicide squeeze
collisions at home plate
in a cloud of dust
and its pitch by pitch story
fans perched on the edges
of their seats like falcons.

the outfield diving drama
is beginning to unfold
like a caterpillar slowly emerging
from a cocoon
creeping upon the collective
american psyche
as spring season games and the
world baseball classic are
wiggling their way across
our plasma screens
announcing the appearance
silently, without anyone taking notice,
of baseball.

baseball,
the great american past time
is sprouting wings
to reveal itself in the
beer slurping peanut popping
salty mustard ketchup and relish
hot dog gorging fans of
the boys of summer
conjures visions of
fourth of july fireworks
sites set on hot summer nights and
take me out to the ballgame days.

grab your neatsfoot oil
and drag that cracked old mitt
out of the dark
it's time to pay homage
make the pilgrimage
to the ballpark
revere in the church of baseball
the perfect green fields
of the hallowed stadium
raise your eyes in divine hope
to the scoreboard
the halos of angels ensconced
in the moth drawing lights
and give praise
to the arrival of
baseball.