Naming Names

So over the intercom I hear the likes of Kevin Haverbusch or Shane Hopper and it dawns on me these aren’t major league names. That’s why they’re still playing here. But what if in some other parallel universe, that’s what the minor leagues are all about. Getting a name, literally. It’s like Greg Perry. That’s not even the stuff of a minor poet. Ah, but Son Rivers, on the other hand.

Act Two: Getting the Job

I knew a pitcher, name of Joe,
Joey Richardson, who threw
a perfect game one August night
in Jacksonville. The very next morning
he woke to read his name in print
spelled “Job,” Job Richmond. And got the call
that afternoon to join the Dodgers,
playing on the road in Cincinnati.
Pitched the sixth, struck out the side.
He’s a fifth starter for the Rockies these days.
But for every Job-from-Joey tale
there’s twenty Johnny What’s-their-faces
who never get their names writ twice
but still go playing in that faceless twilight.

~Son Rivers 2005

Pssst. Between me and you, I'm not sure if Son is succeeding here. The conceit is there, but the treatment, I'm not sure. By the way, if you'd like to rip this, I mean really lay into it, please do. I do not subscribe to Jonathan's code. I mean what if every single poet began to blog, but no one could criticize a fellow blogger, what kind of hell would we be in then?