By Stuart Shea
Old kamoshika
In a field under bright stars
For one last gallop.
The Yankees’ New Murderers’ Row?
by Stephen Jones
146 home runs so far
Shades of 1927?
It’s bad luck to compare
But fun to tease tradition:
The big bat
is where it’s at
in Yankee Stadium
A mantra that
is “Ohmm . . . swat!”
amid fan-demonium
One thing is certain
and just to say:
The Bronx Bombers
are pure Broadway
“Mark the Bird” by Shirley Stringham
I’ll Believe It When I See It
by James Finn Garner
Arby’s is a gourmet taste
Fargo’s an exciting place
Roseanne boasts an hourglass waist
And Adam Dunn steals second base
The deficit has no room to grow
Charlie Sheen lays off the blow
Pope Benedict turns gigolo
Big Donkey beats the catcher’s throw
Olympic swimming power: Slovakia!
New fashions sewn of dieffenbachia
Cheney sports ears like Mr. Spock — Yah!
And Dunny steals on Saltalamacchia!
A Tip To Teddy
by Grantland Rice
That’s the only job for you, take your tip now, Theodore,
Think of how your pulse will leap when you hear the angry roar.
Of the bleacher gods in rage, you will find the action there,
Which you’ve hunted for in vain, in the Presidential chair.
Chasing mountain lions and such, catching grizzlies will seem tame,
Lined up with the jolt you’ll get in the thick of some close game.
Choking angry wolves to death as a sport will stack up raw,
When you see Kid Elberfeld swinging for your under jaw.
When you hear Hugh Jennings roar, “Call them strikes, you lump of cheese!”
Or McGraw rushing in, kicking at your shins and knees.
This advice to President Theodore Roosevelt (not a fan of the game) was published in Baseball Magazine, in June 1909.