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April 15, 2014 |

2 Poems

Jacob Collins-Wilson

My Father as a Baseball Coach

His hands are golden, approaching leather.
He wears a mid-night blue windbreaker
because coaching baseball is a frozen verb.
Whenever my father runs his hand

2 Poems photo
The First Game photo

April 14, 2014 | Nonfiction

The First Game

Nicholas Ward

We parked on Michigan Avenue like we always would, walking hand-in-hand through Corktown, the oldest neighborhood in Detroit. We bought peanuts in brown paper bags from vendors on the street. They

Hobart "Experts" Predict the 2014 MLB Season -- Andrew Ervin photo

April 11, 2014 |

Hobart "Experts" Predict the 2014 MLB Season -- Andrew Ervin

Andrew Ervin

On these frigid afternoons between the Ides of March and Opening Day, when the final roster spots are being claimed, it’s still possible to envision that November parade down Broad St. The Phillies

For Jake "The Snake" Roberts, on the Occasion of Making an Unlikely Out in Centerfield During a Charity Softball Game photo

April 10, 2014 | Poetry

For Jake "The Snake" Roberts, on the Occasion of Making an Unlikely Out in Centerfield During a Charity Softball Game

Colette Arrand

Like every catch before or since, yours is a matter of geometry
and probability. To say this is to admit that I believe in miracles.

Pro-wrestling is this: the work of death and resurrection.