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Summer/Fall 2019

Cola and Baseball


by Laurie Brown-Pressly


A classic—long before we were ever introduced to the new—in one hand

And a pale blue, battered Braves cap in the other

Three great-grands snuggled at your feet

Gathered ‘round the television set deep in its wooden console

Like the squatty catcher huddled in back of the dugout.

“This young man—Murphy—he’s fast and strong.

Maybe we’ll see some action this year.”


By the time I was old enough to remember,

The spring in your step had changed to fall

Still, your spirit was always April’s opening day

With fields of smooth, fresh green turf

And the familiar scent of worn leather.

When winter began her ninth inning rally,

Eyes that could no longer focus turned to ears

And we all listened for the crack of the bat.

Now they’re wearing navy and their bats are red, hot.

This year could be the year, we all would hope and pray.

But September came and went. In disappointment,

From fleeting post-season ‘til opening day,

We were waiting batters agonizingly anticipating the first pitch.

Then, mid-season ninety-four, you stole home quietly.


Dad recalls you could put away nine classics in a day

And that was when a cola was a cola and your stomach, iron.

As for the team you rooted for since their days in Milwaukee—

They won the series one year too late in ninety-five.