The Night I Lost My Souvenir Bucket Hat
—Exhibition Game, August 8, 1977
MacArthur Stadium, Syracuse, New York
We three—
Dad, little brother, and nine-year-old me—
watched from the low-rise, general admission bleachers
beside right field, a long walk to the concession stand
and nowhere convenient to shelter from the rain, and
it did rain that night we visited the ball park to see
the New York Yankees rival their Triple-A farm club
Syracuse Chiefs, who, after three innings, were ahead
on the scoreboard before the rain delay, when Dad said
the Yanks were letting the Chiefs win, rotating
bench players while big name starters schmoozed
at the fence-line, and luckily, that fence was close to
us fans who sat in nowhere-land just to see our sports
heroes because, let’s face it, we were there for
the Major Leaguers anyway, our pounding pulses,
giddy chatter, and broad grins underscoring delight in
sort of meeting our favorite soon-to-be
World Series Champs—
star hitter and right fielder Reggie Jackson, shortstop
Bucky Dent, second baseman Willie Randolph, pitcher
Ron Guidry, catcher Thurman Munson, among them—
signing autographs for more seasoned fans with
the foresight to bring baseballs and ballpoints as
we stood a mere Louisville Slugger’s length behind
them, our eyes wide and jaws on the gravel, until
the rain finally tapered off, antsy fans grew louder,
and the umpire again declared,
Play ball! and when the ninth inning had barely ended—
the Chiefs having proudly trounced the Yanks 14-5—
our soggy trio mad-dashed through the crowd, Dad’s firm
hands guiding us kids by our shoulders to the restrooms
for a pit stop, then onward to our trusty royal blue Ford
van in the crowded parking lot, where I realized I’d lost
my oft-worn, multi-colored Long Island Game Farm hat,
too late to buy a Yankees ball cap and keepsake pen,
ask Mr. October to sign the not-yet-broken-in rim.
About the Author: Leslie M. Rupracht has poems appearing or forthcoming in Aeolian Harp, Asheville Poetry Review, As It Ought To Be Magazine, Chiron Review, K’in, The Ekphrastic Review, Gargoyle, Anti-Heroin Chic, Kakalak, a chapbook, Splintered Memories (Main Street Rag), and elsewhere. Editor, poet, writer, visual artist, and rescued pit bull mama, Leslie cofounded and hosts the monthly reading series, Waterbean Poetry Night at the Mic, in Huntersville, NC (on Facebook/Instagram @WaterbeanPoetryNightattheMic).
Image Credit: Russell Lee “Night baseball, Marshall, Texas” (1939) Public domain image courtesy of the Library of Congress
As It Ought To Be 
Wonderful poem, Leslie!
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