by James Finn Garner
Consider the case of Tim Lincecum,
With veins of ice water and an arm made of gum.
He looks like a stoner, but he isn’t dumb.
Those Cy Youngs weren’t promos packaged with rum.
He made Cox and the Braves rue they had come.
All D-Lee saw was a blur and a hum.
When he eats your lunch, dude, he won’t leave a crumb.
The Giants’ new hero, Ted Lincecum.
Published in Atlanta Braves, Players, Pure doggerel, San Francisco Giants | Link to this poem | 1 Comment