Farewell, Friends!

Goodbye, so long, and see you later,

The void I’m leaving this magazine is a sizable crater.

I got myself started after the Second World War,

Since fiction editors weren’t needed in the Army Air Corps.

I was often mistaken for an Episcopalian,

Which is certainly preferable to a tatterdemalion.

For seventy years, I corrected the best,

Rewriting sentences and deleting the mess.

Of Thurbers, Nabokovs, and John Updikes,

Since few writers get the benefit of three strikes.

In baseball, my fandom went back a long ways,

To Ruths, Gehrigs, and Napoleon Lajoies.

I supported teams all over the league,

Life’s too short for rooting fatigue.

Admired Koufax’s curve and broke Gibson’s stare,

When the weather misbehaved, I turned to prayer.

Enthralled by the bunt and the infield fly,

I spent a lifetime parsing nuances, both subtle and wry,

Some sportswriters resented my special access,

With plenty of time allotted to indulge and digress,

I wasn’t Jimmy Cannon, Red Smith or even Damon Runyon,

At first they treated me like I exhaled raw onion,

To put them at ease, I made my intentions clear,

I wasn’t after their jobs, how ‘bout a beer? 

I made friends across the press box and into the dugout,

Earl Weaver was one, who liked to shower then air out,

Short and clever, naked and profane, 

Clothes were a nuisance when chatting post-game.

Names filled my notebook from seasons now gone,

I was lucky to pitch my ideas to Mr. Shawn.

Yogi, Reggie, and a young Tom Seaver.

Mickey, Whitey, and an old John Cheever.

Astronauts may have walked on the moon,

But Bill Lee spoke with an alien tune.

In ’67, there was nothing like Yaz,

‘Cept maybe Miles revolutionizing jazz.

Jackie, Joe D., and The Splendid Splinter,

I always wept a little, with no games in winter. 

I entered the Hall of Fame, not too long ago,

With a place among the greats along Lake Otsego.

I wish you all contented returns,

Even those who never read me, owing it all to Ken Burns.

Would you look at the time, it flies like a liner,

There are no ties, neither here nor the Minors,

I enjoyed my extra innings the best I could,

Let that be a lesson for living well and good.

That's me in a nutshell.

I bid you adieu and farewell.

But to make it to 101?

Not bad, what a run!