Simpler Times

Gone are the days when kids gathered at the local candy store or met at a local park to play a game of Baseball.  Below is a poem by my friend Glen Brown, sharing his thoughts on what I call simpler times. 

Five years before Pete Rose
I bought a box of baseball cards
at Tessie’s candy store
on the corner of Elizabeth
and Ohio Street for two dollars
with money I won pitching pennies,
forty packs frosted in glucose
and a yield of two-hundred players
my friends and I would swap
like big-league managers
making trades.

Sometimes
three or four Ernie Banks’ cards
turned up in one box –
bait for any Cubs’ addict
in 1958.

I was the only White Sox fan
on Elizabeth Street that year,
a gambler taking a bus to Wrigley Field
with a bag of peanut butter
sandwiches for munching,
baseball cards for autographs,
and gum for wagering
on the game’s outcome.

I’d always arrive just in time
for batting practice;
I’d cheer for the challenger in town—
Reds, Braves, Giants… it didn’t matter—
amid jeers.

I’d bet forty sticks of gum
against the Cubs every game;
like a sure steal, I’d come home
overdosed on sugar,
my jaws sore from chewing.