You Make the Call

by the Village Elliott

Ain’t Pete Carroll, but Charlie Dressen,
Made worst sports call. History lesson:
Jints Thompson called, “Thank-a
God, he called Ralph Branca!”
Call Flatbush calls “Bums’ Most Depressin’!”

 


Published in Former Teams, History, Limerick, Los Angeles Dodgers, San Francisco Giants | Link to this poem | No Comments

Minnie Minoso, Your Name is a Song

by James Finn Garner

Minnie Minoso
Your name is a song

And why it took so long
To integrate Chicago baseball
God only knows

But you came and showed
The joy of speed
The command of glove
And changed the game
But why do I love
You, Orestes, besides your name?

The Cuban Comet
You flared and flamed
and lit up the place
Wherever you came

Minnie Minoso
Your name is a song
I hope to recall
My whole life long

 


Published in Chicago White Sox, Free Verse, James Finn Garner, Players, The Game Itself | Link to this poem | 3 Comments

Minnie Minoso

by George Bowering

In this time when most players are so-so,
and seem to have legs made of lead,
we miss the great Minnie Minoso,
but wish that his socks had been red.

 


Published in Chicago White Sox, Chicago White Sox, Fans, Players, Pure doggerel | Link to this poem | No Comments

To Arms! To Arms!

by Stephen Jones

It is, so far, a winter to remember.
Our dreams in the Northeast
Are huddled in a Valley Forge.
Our ballparks have been seized,
Taken by the “white coats” of snow

But in places to the south,
With names like St. Lucie and St. Pete,
The “Sons of Liberty” are unlimbering
They are pitching and catching;
They are heeding the call:

To arms! To arms!

Pitchers and catchers — to arms!

 


Published in Boston Red Sox, Fans, New York Mets, New York Yankees, Philadelphia Phillies, Players, Pure doggerel, The Game Itself, Toronto Blue Jays | Link to this poem | No Comments

Life is Good!

by James Finn Garner

Winter’s been raw as a campout in Banff.
Your new basement walls are moldy and damp.
Your drapes caught fire from a knocked over lamp—

Relax!
Pitchers and catchers are reporting to camp.

 

Your check-writing hand’s developed a cramp,
Your bills are all due and you ain’t got a stamp,
Creditors cling to your neck like a clamp—

Smile!
Pitchers and catchers are reporting to camp.

 

Your yard now faces a new freeway ramp.
Your son is engaged to a gold-digging tramp.
Your “guitar hero” neighbor’s just bought a new amp—

Life is good!
Pitchers and catchers are reporting to camp.

 

First posted 2/13/2008


Published in Fans, James Finn Garner, Pure doggerel, The Game Itself, Youth | Link to this poem | 1 Comment

To Arms! To Arms!

Life is Good!

What I Learned from Ernie Banks

The Clubhouse’s Haiku

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Copyright 2007 Bardball.