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Blame It On The Yankees

by Sid Yiddish

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A 27th title
A 27th crown
I don’t believe it,
Did those Yankees buy it off like the 2003 Florida Marlins?

What’s a little extra cash between friends?
What’s a little stash hidden, what’s a little trash talk, just coz other teams didn’t win?

Blame it on the Yankees.
Since 2001 have been buying players black-market style, just to satisfy the fans.

Blame it on the Yankees
When A-Rod takes steroids
Blame it on the Yankees
When umpires look the other way
Blame it on the Yankees
When a new stadium was built and cost a ton
Blame it on the Yankees
When the new yarns are spun

Blame it on the Yankees
When the old legends mysteriously disappeared
Blame it on the Yankees
When they played on our worst fears
Blame it on the Yankees
When the Phillies lost hard
Blame it on the Yankees
When they caught the fans off-guard
Blame it on the Yankees
When they pulled hits out of thin air
Blame it on the Yankees
When they won the World Series fair and square

Blame it on the Yankees
Blame it on the Yankees

Because they always will.
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Posted 11/11/2009

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Brand New Allegory

by Sid Yiddish

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In November,
When trees become slender
Why is baseball still being played?
We’ve strayed into dangerous territory
A brand new allegory
That sadly cannot be fixed
What we learn,
When there is money to burn
Is not much, to say the least
Just as long as there are hops and yeast added to the mix
A few more tickets to sell
And a couple of hotdogs too
The game could be played well into December,
A month when we traditionally feel the warmth of glowing embers,
But the idea of frostbitten toes and fingers just makes no sense!

I mean, can you imagine Chicago’s Carlos Zambrano in a big gray parka, scarf over mouth while pitching an ice ball straight over the plate, while St Louis’ Mark DeRosa is shivering and shuffles his feet just to keep warm and knocks the ice ball right into the stands, causing fans to slip on ice patches and scuffle over an ice ball, thereby giving frostbite and twisted ankles to several fans in sub-zero temperatures, while both bullpens are warming up with giant bonfires made from Louisville Sluggers?

Well, I can.
But I don’t want to.

And this is why baseball should not go beyond mid-October.
For on Christmas Day, I don’t want some guy say, “Can’t wait for the annual New Year’s Major League Snowball Bash.”

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Posted 11/9/2009

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A World Series Poem

by Kevin R.A. DeCandido

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Here’s to A-Rod and his Centaur pic
Here’s to Damon Johnny and Swisher Nick

Here’s to CC, A.J., and Mo
Here’s to Molina, Cervelli, and Po

Here’s to the Captain in the leadoff spot
Here’s to Marte for getting red-hot

Here’s to Teixeira and his stretchy right leg
Here’s to fifth starters for which we would beg

Here’s to Joba and Phil, arms for the future
Here’s to Chien-Ming Wang and his sutures

Here’s to Melky and Gardner, fighting for starts
Here’s to Hairston and Hinske and other spare parts

Here’s to Cashman who put it together
Here’s to Cano, who can’t handle bad weather

Here’s to the bullpen from D-Rob to Ace
Here’s to Pettitte and the killer gaze

Here’s to Matsui, Most Valuable Player
And here’s to Girardi, who’ll need a new number.

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Posted 11/5/2009

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Just Hold On Til Mo

by James Finn Garner

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 Dedicated to skittish Yankee fans everywhere:

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When your son asks you advice on mascara,
When your head’s a-flame and your mouth’s a Sahara,
When that small, still voice inside prattles like Berra–
I’ve got two words:
Mariano Rivera.

When you’re uprooted and force-marched to some terra
Incognita, a dark, doomed hell where a perky Sarah
Palin is president and not just a chimera–
I’ve got two words:
Mariano Rivera.

When you yearn for escape and consider hara-
Kiri–Breathe deep, relax, don a fresh guayabera,
And watch the greatest hero since Before the Common Era–
He’ll bless you and keep you:
Mariano Rivera.

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Posted 11/3/2009