Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
by David Bellel
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Birds flying low, you know how I feel,
Three-hit Cano, you know how I feel,
Ten wins in a row, you know how I feel,
It’s another o-misplay
It’s a crucial CC K
It’s a Rivera save
For Yanks,
And I’m feeling good.
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Check out David’s Yankee blog, Pseudo-Intellectualism.
Posted 6/30/10
By Joe Moag
Unto He!
Unto He, the new rookie,
He with an arm fit to hoist Zeus’ bolt,
Fit to slay our past; fit to redeem our degradations.
Unto He, our welcomed savior!
A reprieve from years of ill, from years of doubt,
From years of lowness.
Unto He, the Lifter!
Unto He, the Changer!
Unto He, the Future!
Unto He, Alleviator of this state
Of prolonged exile, of overdue vengeance,
Of our just and righteous payback!
Unto He we place this proof
That our faith, traveled across orphanage and dismissal,
Our Faith, that thing
Which steeled our resolve
To simply stay in the game long enough,
Has borne fruit! It has brought
Him, here, to Us.
No light as bright as this has ever shone, only to
Fall away in wreckage through the dimming of life’s cold onslaughts and hurly-burl!
Immortals don’t flinch, or suffer, or miss their mark – they shine!
Our wait itself is the toil and testament to the surety of this!
This Game and its Gods, who sit high and low,
Sworn sacred to the mischief in their souls
Could never be jealous enough
To make this foreseen future, this deserved fate,
Fall short.
Posted 6/27/10
by Stephen Jones
A tough place to be
10 inches higher than home plate
(wheel work hub to
the elongated arch of bases)
is the pitcher’s mound
A tough place to be
when fans & cameras & commentators
focus on a dome of earth
on an arm & its delivery
to the hub/to home plate
A tough place to be
when all works or doesn’t
Head heart mind body
focused or not in this moment
To be a pitcher on the mound
A tough place to be
Posted 6/25/10
By Joe Moag
Our summer game’s true grab
On people’s hearts and minds
Is that after taking crap at work
We turn on Channel 9.
As we finish up our dinners,
As we tuck our kids in bed;
As we plop down on the couch
To try and rest our addled heads;
Len and Bob jump on our screens
And hail the pending win:
“The Cubs are set for battle,
SO LET THE GAME BEGIN!”
By the third, Lee has struck out twice,
Ramirez popped to short;
Theriot has swung through three:
He’s allergic to the walk.
By the fifth our pitcher’s bothered–
After all, he’s done his best;
He’s let in only two runs
But that’s two more than he’ll get.
See Cubs hitters swear their oath
To swing at every pitch!
Regardless of location,
Regardless of “the sitch”!
Swing boys, SWING! is their new mantra
It’s something you can’t teach–
When the bat is flailing wildly
At a pitch that’s out of reach.
By the bottom of the ninth
After three are up and down,
Len and Bob say, “Join us
When tomorrow, ‘it’s back on!’”
Posted 6/23/10
by James Finn Garner
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Rallies were exciting,
Cheers a clanging roar
When each kid 14 and under
Got a bat at the stadium door.
They pounded on the railings,
The seats, pillars and floor,
Then they pounded on each other–
Bats ain’t given out no more.
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Posted 6/22/10