Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
A mass of numbers — that’s baseball.
Now, however, stats of memory (and tradition)
Are being supplanted . . . by accounting firms who
Leverage numbers for metric analysis.
You sing: Where have all the baseball cards gone?
The answer is: Welcome to the data crunch.
It isn’t enough, anymore, to say so-and-so hit two-forty.
Calipers now have been applied — it’s a
Surgery of analytics, to build a better bionic team.
Oh, my game, it is baseball.
My home team’s the best,
The team that I root for,
Once league’s furthest west;
I’s taught and brought up where
Redbird fans reside,
Learn the St. Louis Cardinals
Have God on our side.
Learned the game from my father,
Local fan till last day.
Taught me, “Watch your team play, son,
Play the game the right way.”
Watched, rooted, and studied,
Played with own inner pride,
Like I learned as a Cards’ fan
With God on our side.
Have own Hall of Fame Roster
Bat with Redbirds on chest
Diz and Gibby hurled high heat
“Stan the Man’s” still our best
Slats, Pepper, Brock, Cha Cha
Curt Flood’s on-/off-field pride.
My team’s greats played the game right
With God on their side.
I attended first series,
Damn Yanks, ’64.
Teams split the first six games,
Each must win one game more.
Sat with Dad in the bleachers,
Where Mick’s last tater flied.
Final out celebrated
With God on our side.
Beat Damn Yanks for first title.
Old Pete was the gent,
Soon Lou and Babe payback,
In four games Cards are spent.
Split next two, early ’40s,
Wounded Damn Yankees’ pride,
Then they start counting dead boys
With God on their side.
After Second World War, boys,
BoSox dream Cards upend.
Later “Lonborg’s Champagne”
Drink “Impossible’s” end,
But post-Y2K,
Big Papi’s, Sox pride
Twice repay the Redbirds
With God on their side.
Oh, the record book tells it,
It tells it so well:
The game’s been built of 3s
Since, like, eternity.
3 outs, 3 strikes,
3 bases and the like
Now add to these trios
Garcias who with brio
Manned the grass for the Hose.
Unlike the real bros
Matty, Felipe and Jesus–
The splendid Alous–
These Garcias don’t own
Similar chromosomes
But never in history
Has an outfield had 3
Confused when they hear
“Hey! Garcia! Get over here!”
Behold “Hold’em” Holder, the Holder of holds.
His heaters hate hitters, their bats catching colds.
His outings eat innings, as each hold unfolds,
Behold “Hold’em” Holder! the Holder of holds!
Just call “Hold’em” Holder; the lead will be held.
Our enemies vanquished, their loss clearly smelled,
This Holder will hold them, their hopes to be quelled,
Behold “Hold’em” Holder! Our vict’ry upheld!
Behold “Hold’em” Holder; he holds, does not save,
Each new hold unfolding, each game to its grave,
A high-holding holder, their bats shall behave!
Behold “Hold’em” Holder! Our lead shall not cave!
For Mirian Cepeda, d. 4/12/17
‘Tis a sad day for Jints’ family
Mirian has passed into history.
Mrs. Cha Cha, though passed,
Left her love that will last
In hearts filled with her dear memory.