Is it too late to call Cal?
Or even Bob Bonner?
With Hernandez or Fahey, the season’s a goner.
The pitching staff is shot to hell.
With Schilling, Beckett, and Colon unwell,
They’re Dice-rolling at the opening bell.
Will the Sox get greedy
Watch your back, Ozzie—or, rather, watch Joe’s.
It’s time for the talent to show.
And with any luck (please, God)…
Maybe a new logo?
No injury worries—not even a tinge!
When any Tiger feels a twinge,
They’ll call on Brandon Inge.
Tote that Bale, lift that Gload,
Another long year in KC?
Or a renaissance? These kids are beginning to be.
And Vlad the Impaler,
And a bunch of young pitchers hopping out of a trailer.
No cash for Johan or Torii,
But there’s money for Nathan—within reason—
Though he pitches just 70 innings a season.
NEW YORK STATE OF MIND
The Yankees won’t listen to reason!!
They’ll pull out their Wang
To open the season!!
What’s that sound from the Street?
Is it Foulke music so sweet?
Oh, it’s Rich Harden’s shoulder, grinding like meat.
Half the team has reached the big three-oh,
And aside from Ichiro,
There’s a lot of “don’t know.”
They sent Longoria to Triple-A
To reduce his service time? Feh!
This franchise is still the pride of Mephistofele.
Trouble children, like Bradley and Hamilton,
And a pitching staff
Of no wheat and all chaff.
Toronto has Coats.
Maybe they’ll avoid
A cold April.
Published in AL Central, AL East, AL West, Baltimore Orioles, Boston Red Sox, Chicago White Sox, Cleveland Indians, Detroit Tigers, Kansas City Royals, Los Angeles Angels, Minnesota Twins, New York Yankees, Oakland Athletics, Players, Pure doggerel, Seattle Mariners, Stu Shea, Tampa Bay Rays, Texas Rangers, Toronto Blue Jays | Link to this poem | No Comments