Rogers Hornsby, Off-Season Poet

by Raphael Badagliacca

What do I do in Winter
When there’s no baseball
People want to know
Just one thing
I stare out the window
And wait for Spring.

 


Published in Atlanta Braves, Chicago Cubs, History, Lyric, Players, San Francisco Giants, St. Louis Cardinals, The Game Itself | Link to this poem | No Comments

Sammy Sosa, the Founder of Chicago

by James Finn Garner

Leave aside the famed DuSable
Who thought he wore this feather in his cap.
We’ll forgive you this historical bobble,
Twas Sammy Sosa put Chicago on the map.

Forget Jim Thompson and Hinky Dink Kenna
Who lay the town in corruption’s lap.
They came and went, but at the center,
Twas Sammy Sosa put Chicago on the map.

Dion O’Banion and Al Capone
Made sure the suds were e’er on tap.
Those slobs can’t call this town their own–
Twas Sammy Sosa put Chicago on the map.

Sure, Sandburg, Bellow, Studs could write,
Curtis Mayfield was a soulful chap,
Muddy Waters was a man, all right,
But Sammy Sosa put Chicago on the map.

I’ll admit MJ could play some hoops.
Hack, Ernie, Big Hurt and Pudge could slap
A few hits around, but no big whoops–
Twas Sammy Sosa put Chicago on the map.

 

Sosa’s colossal ego is on full display in a recent, rare interview with former Cubs PR man Chuck Wosserstrom.


Published in Chicago Cubs, Chicago White Sox, History, James Finn Garner, Players, Pure doggerel | Link to this poem | No Comments

Washington Swept Here

by Jim Siergey

Herb Washington
Designated to run
Not to shake hands
Or kiss baby’s faces
But solely to suit up
And steal some bases

 

We salute Herb on this other Washington’s birthday: 33 runs scored and 31 stolen bases in 105 games with nary a time at bat!


Published in History, Oakland Athletics, Players, Pure doggerel | Link to this poem | No Comments

Already?

by Stephen Jones

Doesn’t matter which team you like —
Pitchers and catchers start this week.

“This year it’ll be different,” you avow . . .
Based on what you don’t know right now.

No matter — speculation and hope abound,
And never touch winter’s frozen ground,

And while right now it might be cold and gray,
Dreams float like clouds on a summer day.

 


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

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.

Breaking news makes you break out in a rant.
You want to stop watching; duty says you can’t.
I fear Lady Liberty’s being measured for implants–

.         With luck we’ll survive,
.         And pitchers and catchers are reporting to camp.

 

First posted 2/13/2008; updated 2/15/17

 


Published in Uncategorized | Link to this poem | 1 Comment

Already?

Life is Good

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Copyright 2007 Bardball.