On Watching Buster Posey Hit Homers #6 and #7

By Stuart Shea

Not to be nosey,
Buster Posey,
But what has taken so long
For your bat to shower
The Giants with power?
I miss that “Bye Bye, Baby” song!

 


Published in Players, Pure doggerel, San Francisco Giants, Stu Shea | Link to this poem | No Comments

Tony Gwynn

by The Village Elliott

With apologies to Rudyard Kipling and his “Gunga Din”

You may talk of those who bat
With reflexes like a cat,
Like Tony Gwynn, whose prowess was high art.
Played right field for childhood team,
Padre skipper’s Gold Glove dream,
A southpaw five-tool player, ‘ead and ‘eart.
Destined for the ‘All of Fame,
San Diego son became
Legend playing locally for twenty years.
Though big money thrown his way,
Stayed for “’Ometown Discount” pay,
Around the league fans paid him with more cheers.

Fans cheered, “Gwynn! Gwynn! Stalwart star!
Your sweet swing strikes spheroid far.
Though twice Series ring eluded,
When your career concluded,
Your .394 best season since World War.”

Padre uniform he wore,
Was nothing much before
And rather less ag’in when he retired.
But his two-toned Padre ‘at
An’ eight-time entitled bat
Was all the field equipment he required.
When Dog Days of Summer’s ‘eat
Has grim gamers in retreat,
Avoid high ‘eat that makes one’s average skid,
‘Eat didn’t wither, make Gwynn faint,
Hit another where they ain’t,
And it dropped in like three thousand others did.

Fans called, “Gwynn! Gwynn! Tony Gwynn!
Eighth bat title you did win
Puts you in the Pantheon
For most NL titles won,
Only you and ‘Onus Wagner, Tony Gwynn.”

‘Allowed ‘all in Cooperstown
Honors players of renown,
With special nod for “Inner-Circle Member,”
Those elected first time out,
For the writers have no doubt
They’re Immortals whose careers fans need remember.
One Immortal who slid in
Was the Padres’ Tony Gwynn,
Second San Diego son to get so tapped.
Though first two less bat crowns wrest,
William’s lifetime average best
Though Gwynn’s.338 best since Ted first uncapped.

Fans cried, ”Goodbye, Tony Gwynn!
End in town where you begin.
Now you play on Field of Dreams
Where Immortals field the teams.
You belong on their first ballot, Tony Gwynn.”

The Village Elliott lives in Stinson Beach, California. His bio is a poem in itself–watch this space for further details.


Published in History, Players, San Diego Padres, Songs and Parodies, Youth | Link to this poem | No Comments

The Yankee Contracts Poem

by Hart Seely

Three more years of A-Rod,
Each, twenty million-plus.
Three more years of C.C.,
Blown tires on the bus.
Six more years of Ellsb’ry,
Just where did we go wrong?
And two more years of Beltran…
I will not live that long.

Two more years, Teixeira,
McCann, until ’18.
Gardner through the following year,
By then, I’ll have no spleen.
We’ll play no one at shortstop.
Our system’s hit the wall.
And two more years of Beltran…
Who cannot throw the ball.

Six more years, Tanaka.
Already, looking frail.
And Prado for another two.
By then, we’ll own Chris Sale.
We punted in the bidding,
And so jettisoned Cano.
For two more years of Beltran…
Dear God, please let me go!

Our Father, up in heaven,
Where contracts loom so large,
Two hundred million buys a boat
That steers just like a barge.
We’re dead throughout the order,
A slugger? No, not one!
With two more years of Beltran…
God, wake me when it’s done.

Hart Seely is custodian and ticket taker at the always-entertaining Yankee blog, It is High, It is Far, It is … caught.

 


Published in Management, New York Yankees, Pure doggerel | Link to this poem | 3 Comments

Some Things in Baseball Aren’t Timeless

by Stephen Jones

Back in baseball’s glory days
A plug or “chaw”
Stuffed in the back pocket
Was the norm.

In those summer salad days
Players in interviews
Or at their locker room ease
Smoked without a thought.

But time and culture changed;
Still, some habits – they die hard.
Stogie, wad and cigarette may have gone,
But not so the pinch between cheek and gum.

First this year, it was Tony Gwynn -
Remember the bulge in his rounded cheek
As regular as his steady swing? -
Who died because of that reason.

Now we hear Curt Schilling’s
Undergoing chemo and radiation,
But if all the reports are true,
His “Big C” is in remission.

In baseball some things
Are timeless -
Like a walk-off home run
Or a perfect double play.

But a bad, cruel habit
which shortens mortality?


Published in Boston Red Sox, Free Verse, History, Players, San Diego Padres, Scandals | Link to this poem | 1 Comment

Tarp Bailout

by James Finn Garner

Of all the things that vex the Cubs –
That same sad old refrain –
From day games to Bartman to billy goats
We can add to that roster “rain”.

Rolling out the tarp may look simple
Hardly “mechanical”, ’tis true
Yet what can go wrong surely will go wrong
For those bleeding Cubby blue

The Giants have something to play for
And were lucky to get the game suspended.
The Cubs are still playing “Chicago’s Got Talent!”
But watching them can’t be recommended.

 


Published in Ballparks, Chicago Cubs, James Finn Garner, Pure doggerel, San Francisco Giants | Link to this poem | 1 Comment

Some Things in Baseball Aren’t Timeless

Tarp Bailout

Tony Takes the Wheel

The Boys in Powder Blue

AL East

NL East

Extra Innings

AL Central

NL Central

Poems by Type

AL West

NL West

Heavy Hitters

Copyright 2007 Bardball.