Achievers make abrupt exit after ceremonial game on The Field of (Broken) Dreams


The Sandlot sat empty for years,

a result of Kommunen's fears

that a band apart

who are pure of heart

might make a diamond of blood, sweat, and tears.


Nails and screws got a beatdown

on wood hauled out of Freetown

to give us the means

to build dugout screens

protecting many a pronoun.


Hoisting handball nets high onto poles

we'd cemented in one-meter holes,

our backstop looked good,

and did what it could

to contain our precious yellow balls.


The bases, rubber, and home-plate

were nearly delivered too late,

but in the final hour

through a will to power

the Achievers affirmed their fate:


"The home opener shall be played!"

The delivery man thus obeyed,

and so did the weather

so we could flash the leather

and take pride in the field we'd made.


Spray-painted foul lines soaked into the sand

while base spikes bent under hammering hand.

Home-plate pounded in place

and the mound for our ace.

The Achievers prepared to beat the band.


But in the flash that proceeded

in the blink of an eye

the Achievers had conceded

and the game just flew by.


Not one of us recalls the how, why, and what

but after 5 innings we'd been kicked in the butt.

Fuck that mercy rule!

Let's play 7, you fool!

No one paid heed to our cries from the gut.


And on that homemade Sandlot field of dreams

where fools and eccentrics played out their schemes,

the cold nordic wind

on which our hopes were pinned

Bit, stung, and froze this most joyous of teams.


But special lady friends came to our aid

grilling dogs, buying beers; surprised they'd stayed.

On the field of the Clover

our troubles were over,

leaving hope that the dudes might even get laid.