by Millie Bovich
The Tigers too have had their bats
And ended swinging most at gnats.
The second highest paying club,
To no avail – now there’s the rub.
A few guys sparkled in the end,
But still we lose, no winners send
To play in cool October’s fest.
Let’s face it: we’re not close to best.
A perfect park, a host of fans
To yell and cheer, no banging pans
On Woodward Ave to send the clue.
The Tigers knew just what to do.
To win the pennant and beyond,
To win the Series, we’ve been conned.
But wait a minute! What! I hear
We’ll try to do it come next year!
Published in Detroit Tigers, Pure doggerel | Link to this poem | 1 Comment