Your children were deforestation.  Birds flew to America in search of baseraces.  The winner

received ten lashings.  The ropes were knotted in a style popular during the late-late 19th-

inning, but the pitcher's pants fell down anyway.  The fans demanded their money back.

That was the time of blizzards.  December infestations in our stadiums. Diamond wars,

child labor, school fundraisers.  Guess which kids sold the most wrapping paper.  The kids

won a pizza party, went berserk on pop.  Kids, Christmas it up!  Don't tell me it's too icy to

play, the tempests.  Don't tell me it's too cold to catch snow in your treeball.  Get out there

with your baseball bats, your wilted autograph-leather baseball gloves.  Gorge yourselves

on frozen hotdog jokes, on retainers, your parents' mid-life aviaries, brace your bare-boy

shoulders, and wind it up.