I can clearly remember evenings of yore At Memorial Stadium in Baltimore. My old urban neighborhoods lucent bowl Contained memories that still stir my soul. Fervent roars and the shouts of vociferous crowds. Would commonly echo off the nighttime clouds. I saw many great ballgames on 33rd Street. But one set of memories is not quite as sweet. See, my favorite player was first baseman Eddie. He was sure handed, quick footed, always rock steady. The record book shows he was among the best in the game. He was a hero to the faithful! They chanted his name. His home runs were majestic, true Ruthian clouts. When runners were on base, he almost never made outs. Later in his career, although the man could still hit. Like anyone mortal, his skills decreased just a bit. The Eighty-eight season began inauspiciously. Some alleged Os fans reacted quite viciously. Vituperative comments rained down from the bleachers. I once heard 'Run, you rich n*****' from one of these creatures. I do not know about life as a pro ballplayer When the man in the stands is the salary payer. I will never realize what they hear, think, or feel To be the darling one month, and the next month a heel. Can they shut out the catcalls and just do their jobs? Or do they hear ugly slurs from ignorant slobs? Eddie was traded away; he did well in a new city. But his disloyal treatment here was a terrible pity. His actions drew cheers on many a hot summer night. I just wish my hometown had always treated him righ