Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
by James Finn Garner
Thirty runs hath the Rangers,
To whom before big games were strangers.
The Orioles ‘pen came out to play
And gave a goose to their ERA.
Saltalamacchia swung his stick
and helped his average 83 clicks.
“Too bad,” the moms of O’s might mewl,
“The bigs don’t have a slaughter rule.”
Posted 8/24/2007
by Caleb Wiley
Big Klu and his guns struck fear
In opponents both far and near.
His sleeves were ripped out, swung the bat with great clout,
The Mighty Big Klu was he.
His biceps were frightening indeed.
He caused the old hardball to bleed.
No doubt he was big, he also was tough,
The Mighty Big Klu was he.
His muscles were au naturel,
Unlike DeRosa and Sosa, et al.
No steroids or juice, just nature unloosed,
The Mighty Big Klu was he.
Posted 8/21/2007
a melancholy poem by Lew Brickhate
You threw me curves all night, but before the night was over, I touched all bases.
Then we became battery mates, resulting in no-hitters.
Your over-sized mitts would catch the release point of my knuckle-spit balls.
But alas, you got traded to Japan–not Normal, a late-Bloomer, I could only throw so far.
But I will keep trying to reach you, even if it means I become Venus DeMilo.
Ignoring signals which come from above; I screwed up, I threw away love.
Posted 8/23/2007Â
Big Klu and his guns struck fear
Into opponents both far and near.
His sleeves were ripped out, swung the bat with great clout,
The Mighty Big Klu was he.
His biceps were frightening, indeed.
He caused the old hardball to bleed.
No doubt he was big, he also was tough,
The Mighty Big Klu was he.
His muscles were au naturel,
Unlike DeRosa and Sosa, et al.
No steroids or juice, just nature unloosed–
The Mighty Big Klu was he!
Posted 8/21/2007
By Stu Shea
Sox lose,
More blues.
‘pen sucks,
Big bucks.
Old team,
Fans scream.
Fire Ken,
Start again.
Oz stays,
He’s crazed.