By Stuart Shea
A pitcher named Carlos Zambrano
Pitched the year rank as bat guano.
When asked why this was,
He replied, “It’s because
No one ever tells me ‘Te amo.'”
Jeter at the Bat
by Hart Seely
The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Yankee nine that night:
The score stood two to one, and with no rallies left in sight.
When Colin Curtis lined to first, out-foxed by pitcher Shields,
A sickly silence vexed the Bomber fans o’er Tampa’s fields.
The New York bats had wilted in a deep despair. The race
Had found them in a losing funk, a-mired in second place.
They thought, if only Jeter could unto the plate bestride,
They’d put up even money he could take one in the side.
Then from 5,000 Tampa throats there rose a lusty foam;
It rumbled ‘cross the plastic turf, it nearly popped the dome;
It rocked the mighty harbor ships returning from the sea,
With their bows a-colored rusty with dispersant from BP.
There was ease in Jeter’s manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Jeter’s bearing and a smile on Jeter’s face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly made a scene,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt he hoped to work a bean.
Ten thousand eyes were on him, as the scoreboard bellowed loud;
Five thousand tongues applauded; (down in Tampa, that’s a crowd.)
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
It seemed the Yankee captain might just take one in the lip.
And then the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Jeter stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped-
“IT HIT ME, OWWWW!” cried Jeter. “TAKE FIRST!” the umpire said.
Now from the former Devil Rays, there rose a mighty roar,
Like the warble from John Sterling aft a walk-off Yankee score.
“Kill him! Kill the umpire!” boomed Joe Maddon from his stand;
And the umpire said, “Yer out a’ here!” while Jeter rubbed his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity great Jeter’s visage shone;
He jogged to first a-smiling; he bade the game go on;
He rubbed his wrist and watched the scoreboard replay through his hat
Which proved the ball had merely struck the handle of his bat.
Oh, somewhere in this fevered land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere kids still dream;
But they’re still pissed off in Tampa: Jeter faked one for the team.
Hart Seely is the major domo of the Yankees blog, It is High, It is Far, It is….Caught.
“And It’s Bye-Bye Baby”
By Stuart Shea and James Finn Garner
Though dead four decades, ol’ Russ Hodges
Still figures in Jints’ reportage.
He and his “bye-bye baby” call
Haven’t faded from baseball at all.
When Pablo, Burrell, or Uribe
Leaves the yard for a splash in the Bay
Kuiper yells “HE HITS IT OUTTA HERE”
And each Giant fan lets out a cheer.
At the end of all innings with dongs,
They play the “Bye-Bye Baby” song.
And a piece of Russ Hodges lives on,
Even though Bobby Thomson’s now gone.
Posted 9/21/10
Fantasy’s Baseball: Frank Frazetta
by Hilary Barta
He’d brutally batter his foes
And aim at their heads with his throws.
On top of the pile,
He’d savagely smile,
Then strike a familiar pose.
King of fantasy illustrators Frank Frazetta (1928-2010) was known for work on Conan the Barbarian and the covers of Molly Hatchet albums. Most people don’t know he was also talented enough to attract attention as a baseball player. On the Frazetta Art Gallery web site, his baseball almost-career is discussed:
Through his teens, he continued drawing and painting, however he began to slack off due to his discovery of girls and baseball. In school he set several high school records, and eventually caught the attention of a scout for the New York Giants professional baseball team. Frank was offered a position on their farm squad with a good prospect of moving up to the major league within a season, but he turned them down. ” I was involved with a girl at the time,” Frazetta says a little sorrowfully. “And going down to Texas and sweating it out in the minors for a year didn’t seem very appealing. You have to remember that at that time athletes weren’t making the money they do today. They bussed you back and forth and it was just a big disgusting hassle. I remember that traveling to another state seemed like going to the end of the world, so I told them, maybe next year. Time went by and before I knew it I was too old. It was just my way of letting time make the decision for me. If I have any regrets it’s that I didn’t turn pro. If I was in my twenties and had it to do over – today, at today’s salaries – you better bet I’d do it.”
Posted 9/19/10
Nighty-Night, White Sox
by James Finn Garner
Now we lay us down to sleep.
Who really thought that we could sweep?
We thought we had a chance at Central,
If Ozzie kept from going mental.
God, forgive us of our sins
And tell us why you made the Twins.
Tell us why we let go Thome,
Then brought in that dreadlocked phony.
Thank you for our newfound heroes,
For Edwin Jackson, Alex Rios,
Thank you for our older guard,
Thanks for Paulie going yard.
Please keep the squad from getting creaky.
Make sure A.J. keeps playing sneaky.
Now we’ll watch the Hawks and Bears,
Trying to ignore our fears
Of Kenny really signing Manny
And Ozzie going to Miami.