The Ballad of Susan Finkelstein

by James Finn Garner

.

The girl had “Phillie Fever”,
A massive fall attack.
The only cure required her
To lay down on her back.

To nab a pair of tickets,
What must a clever girl do?
A “Dirty Utley”?  “Around the Lidge”?
A “Hamels Camel” or two?

But the cops horned in, and now her pic’s
Been spread across the nation.
Next time, p’raps, she first should try
Some Manuel stimulation.

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Posted 10/29/2009

A World Series Poem

by Stephen Jones

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Eight . . . four . . . two
now the World Series venue

bat and ball ball and bat
pitchers arms curved awkward

that

their pitches skew batters
drive them crazy inside out

then

the lazy curve the sudden hit
between two players

now

the breath exhales
the game is on

.

Posted 10/26/2009

Cheering for the Laundry

by James Finn Garner

.

Stars and journeymen come and go,
But the colors stay the same
(Unless a retool’s passed by MLB,
The Heidi Klums of the game).

We cheer for laundry throughout the year,
And as the leaves turn red and gold,
The winning jerseys pull up front,
Eight teams leave the fold.

Champagne pops and high fives slap
As they reach the next plateau
And don those “Division Champ” caps and shirts
And pocket the marketing dough.

Players cheer for the laundry, too,
And a little more fold on the side.
Hey, 20 grand is 20 grand.

It buys a lot of Tide.

.

Posted 10/23/2009

Homer in the Ninth

by Todd Herges

.

From the Ninth Book of Homer’s Odyssey         

(Lines 101-112, as translated by J. W. MACKAIL, c. 1905)                                                           

 

Then for a while, as long as morn was grey,            

And through the increase of the sacred day,             

Against them, though they far outnumbered us,       

We held our ground and kept in our array.               

 

But at the hour of the descending sun,                      

When from the plough the oxen are undone,            

Back the Ciconians drove the Achaean host             

And broke them, that escape we hardly won            

 

From death and doom:  but of my mail-clad host     

Six from each ship lay dead upon the coast.             

Thence we sailed on, escaping glad from death,       

Yet heart-sore for the comrades we had lost.            

                                                                                

 

Homer in the Ninth

 

Then for a while, as they in travel gray,

And through the weather of the autumn day,

Against them, though their fan base outsized ours,

We held our ground and kept L.A. at bay.

 

Long past the hour of the descending sun,

When from the beer the vendors are undone,

Back the Angelenos drove Manuel’s men

And broke them, that escape we hand’ly won

 

From season’s end:  beat’n by the red-clad host

The Dodger team lay dead upon our coast.

Thence we moved on, escaping glad from death,

Yet thankful Ryan Howard gives his most.

.

Posted 10/22/2009