Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
Sure, I wish they didn’t take drugs
To reach the heights they do.
Yes, I wish that we could go back
And not know the stuff we do.
Of course, it’s not the game we played
Upon the fields of youth…
But no one would pay to watch us play,
And that’s the honest truth.
Chris Perez and his old lady
Were caught last week in something shady.
The closer, FedEx at the door,
Welcomed a surprising score.
To give himself some legal cover,
The genius had it mailed to Rover.
Does he think one must be baked
To pitch in the Mistake by the Lake?
If Chris wants to invest in stalks, he
Might finagle a trade to the Rockies.
Playing Softball in Central Park
with chorus dancers traipsing
around bases and pirouetting
to snag fly-balls and I in
tight gold and green MGM
Lions uniform, as-twinky-as
could be, enjoying the sights,
sounds, and après drinks
and egos and all that comes
with thespians and Broadway
“types” in Baseball costumes.
Strawberry Fields memoir.
Welcome Tony Puma to his first at-bat with Bardball. You can read more of his poetry at his website.
Ryan Braun’s song not too sweet
now if PEDs holds true.
So much for amazing stats.
I’m just not amazed anymore,
maybe jaundiced . . . or just in wonder.
Farmer Don was not long for the league.
Feeling blue.
But then — his savior! “That’ll do, Puig.
That’ll do.”