Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
Criminy Jinkies!
What’s with those Twinkies?
Didn’t they get the memo
That this season’s just a demo?
That Molitor is too green
And the talent is too lean
To do any better than
Coming in an also-ran?
Now they’re making it a contest
Keeping the Tigers honest,
Nipping the heels of Kansas City
And making the Hose and Tribe look —
well, we don’t talk that way up here, mister.
Read poems of two teams, each known for schneid,
Longest streaks Series’ titles denied,
Longest droughts in each league,
Chi Cubs North Siders dig,
Lou “The Toe” kicked-in Indians’ pride.
Windy City’s long-time N.L. pride,
Most fans know Cubs have worst Series schneid,
‘Oh-eight year Cubs last won,
T.R. refused to run.
Cleveland’s last: post three years Cubs last tried.
‘Forty-eight: Last time Tribe had Right Stuff.
Indians, in my lifetime, all bluff.
Finished thrice A.L. first,
Series lost, fans’ dream burst.
To keep faith must be mentally tough.
Rooting for Cleveland teams makes fans frown,
Fifty years have passed by since last crown;
Town last won title game
The year “A Man I Became.”
‘Sixty-four: Browns won running Jim Brown.
Cleveland Browns quite a curious case.
Two leagues first score years, eight times win race.
Rocky, Brown, Browns leave town,
Then LeBron lets Cavs down.
Browns reborn, best, Le Bron’s back right place.
Yesterday, a kid–Slade Heathcott–
Hit his first big league home run.
In the majors for only a week,
He hadn’t even seen his team win.
But the Yankees put their slide on hold
And waxed KC’S Guthrie but good.
Maybe Steinbrenner’s ghost had paid
The Yankee locker room a visit.
Maybe Slade saw the ghost as well,
Maybe he was just glad to be alive,
Because he smacked a ball over centerfield
And called the experience “surreal”.
The Tigers can hit
And everyone knows it,
Yet it don’t mean a thing
When the bullpen can’t close it.
Detroiters may reign
As kings of the Central,
But they’ll never go farther
When the bullpen is mental.
Valverde chugged water,
Swirled and spit,
And then he’d cough up
The game-winning hit.
Benoit filled in nicely,
But then he got sloppy,
Serving a granny
To the mighty Big Papi.
“We need a sure thing;
Get Nathan, doggone it.”
But his heater ain’t working;
He’s got nothing on it.
Dombrowski’s a genius;
Stole J.D. from the ’Stros,
But because of their bullpen,
They got swept by the O’s.
I’d deal to the Devil
Miguel Cabrera,
If only he’d trade me
Mariano Rivera.
Swinging strike three against the Enemy in Blue
The Beloved Slight One finds himself amid Giants.
Standing above King Carl with only
The Christian Gentleman, The Dominican Dandy
And Rusie of Ancient Name as company.
All hallowed in the Hall. In this, at least, he stands among.
The Slight Beloved names this a “Good day for the Giants”
And a good day for him, Apologetic Pride
On display from one who need never apologize
For brilliance.