Ray Oyler: Gone but not forgotten

In honor of tomorrow’s “Seattle Pilots Night” at which most attendees will certainly have been born after our first MLB team was long gone to Milwaukee… and in memory of the team’s worst hitter and biggest star, this non-poet offers the following toast to nostalgia and  magical childhoods. Enjoy.

Ray Oyler showed up in the news today
It all came cascading back
The impossible green field below us
An eleven year old and his dad

And above us a sky so magical blue
I was afraid to look away
What if it was a dream? It might be gone
My first Pilots game that day

We had major league ball in our town
For just that one short year
We laughed and cheered and chanted “hey swing batter!”
While Joe Schultz had ’em all pounding beer

They were so close we could almost touch them
Those boys in dazzling white
Just like my own Nightriders uniform but I bet
Their moms didn’t wash ’em at night

A grounder, and dust rose in puffs off the infield
Same as the dirt I played on
But these guys were gods and real heroes
Under blue sky and Seattle sun

Why the hell did everyone love Oyler so much
A fan club for a guy who can’t hit
Dad had a reason. Ray was a shortstop like he was
It was as simple as that

Fifty years ago this month
They opened up play on Rainier
A year later, bankrupt, they bailed on us
To another town famous for beer

All I’ve got left is a thought of my dad
I can still feel his hand on my shoulder
A big red pennant, a souvenir bat
And memories of a guy named Ray Oyler.

Written April 6 2019 for writing prompt “nostalgia”
during Escapril2019, a poem a day for a month.
Thank you Jess MacKintosh for the inspiration!