Back to

Memories of
Old Comiskey Park


Photo Tour  


Evolution of
New Sox Park


More Features  

Uniquely Chicago  


Poetic Tribute  

Glorious Sweep 


Who Am I?  


Boyhood Sox  





A Poetic Tribute to Old Comiskey

by Stephanie Landis

Hi, I Surfed through your site by accident and loved it. I never got the chance to see a game at the old Comiskey, but saw it so many times on TV and fell in love with it. I take in most of my baseball at the Vet, which made me doubly horrified when the powers that be proved their ultimate stupidity and shortsightedness by tearing Old Comiskey down. Eventually I wrote a poem about it, which I thought you might enjoy. Sending the link below. Hope it brings back a few good memories.



Stephanie Landis

Day Game

Time lurches on at Comiskey Park—
Comiskey the old dame in dowdy dress,
Comiskey the baseball fever ward.

Koosman's pitching, conducting the ruckus,
And I can see his face—
His nose as long as my foot,
The flips of hair above his ears.

He drills the ball in like a small pearl,
A mallet that cracks into Pudge Fisk's mitt—
Clean strike. Rising hollering sweeps the stands,

My bladder a watermelon full of beer
But I don't leave. We pound our seats,
We push, we praise, we goad: strike two.
Koosman's cool as cream. He leans back

While we burst blood vessels, flips up his glove,
Going to work while I'm jumping in my seat.
The pitch spins like a dervish from his hand—
Strike three! Every scoured throat in the place erupts,
Launching exultant howls into the stratosphere,

And time pauses at Comiskey Park—
Portrait of mass baseball insanity with crushed peanut shells.

Summer 1995

Regrettably, I never saw a game in person at the old Comiskey Park, described here. The scene is pure fiction. It would have been great, though—next to Carlton and McCarver, Koosman and Fisk would have to be my all-time dream battery. 

You may visit Stephanie's site by clicking here.


Back to

Memories of
Old Comiskey Park


Presented by