What Makes a Man
Brandon Cook
When he was called to the Majors, after pitching a blank and scoreless frame,
He sat in the locker room and cried, as they called up his name,
And all the good men loitering about looked away
Or pretended the floor was a marvel to survey
They were happy for him and without judgment or jealousy,
And though, of course, they wondered about their plot,
They rejoiced at the turn in his fortune’s lot
There is the courage of warriors and of poets (though even warriors know a little verse),
And since we measure men by how fast they can throw a fastball or run the earth,
Or curve leather and cork above the dirt
We should remind ourselves that muscles, in fact, do not make good men
And any who can stare into the grandstand of longing and still stand and not give in
Is also worth his salt
In fact, every man who never sees the Big Leagues but tends the bit of land just in front of him, with devotion and a heart that does not get hard or wintered—
He is good and close to God
Of these we should also sing, even if they make no Hall
Sing their song, no matter how hard they hit the ball