The Downside of Hall Debates

by R.J. Lesch

Rivera’s winding up his farewell tour.
The Rockies’ Helton takes his final bow.
Guerrero leaves the players’ ranks one fewer,
and Pettitte says the time to quit is now.
Who else will be upon the Hall of Fame’s
induction ballot only five years hence?
We’ll cheer them while they play their final games,
and then the tearing down part will commence.

Which candidates are worthy of a plaque?
To get your player through those hallowed doors,
You have to stab the others in the back,
As fewer votes for them mean more for yours.
“Your player’s glove was not so good,” I’ll say.
And you’ll reply my candidate struck out
too often in the clutch. And, by the way,
his value came from a syringe, no doubt.

It’s sad to drag good players through the dust,
but votes are scarce. So, Cooperstown AND bust!

 

Why Can’t the Dodgers Be More Like the Cards?

by James Finn Garner

Don Mattingly’s LA Dodgers,
According to some hot-stove codgers,
Have flouted the unwritten rules
And shown themselves obnoxious tools.

Puig should do as he is told,
Not act like a 22-year-old.
And jumping in the D-Backs’ pool?
Uncool, Tinseltown Tots, uncool.

Dodgers, give heed to the reporters
For your endless list of oughtas.
Obey them when you’re hitting and scoring
And keep the game St. Louis boring.

 

Don’t Be Skeered, It’s Just a Beard

by James Finn Garner

Gimli and his dwarvish brethren
Ol’ ZZ Top of Texas
Moonshiners of cliche southren
Moses (see Leviticus)
The Smith Brothers of lozenge fame
Grant and Lee and Whitman–
Beards may rouse players in the game
But I wouldn’t want to sniff one.

 

What a Game!

by Millie Bovich

Oh, wear ye beards and Sox of red
And caps with B’s upon your head,

And swing ye bats with balls below
And on the bases never go.

The stripe-ed Tigers are in town
Pitchin’, itchin’ for the crown.

And yonder looms another game
And to the winner goes the fame!

 

This was received on Sunday afternoon, before Game 2 between the erstwhile Beaneaters and Wolverines. We post it now to remind us all of the evanescent nature of success in the great game, indeed, of life itself.

Andrew “Handy Andy” Pafko (1921–2013)

by Hilary Barta

Out in center he proved to be handy
Once, hell-bent, made a shoe-string, a dandy
A bad call, threw a fit
(With the ball still in mitt)
What a gent through and through was our Andy.

 

At this time of year, there’s no spookier fright than checking out Hilary’s monster-movie limerick site, LimerWrecks.