An Elegy to Knuckleheads

By Stuart Shea

The F***in’ A’s are history.
How did this thing come to be?!?
A four-run lead in the eighth
And a rested bullpen at the ready.

Sometimes, teams just fall apart.
The Royals showed a lot of heart,
And came back over and over again
After Lester’s gutsy start.

What does it mean for Billy Beane?
His free-agent pitchers will leave the scene,
The farm system decimated,
Times might get pretty lean.

So let’s salute these crazy A’s,
In these darkening Autumn days,
Their brand of insanity so much a part
Of the Bay Area’s humid summer haze.

Reddick and Crisp, Fuld and Gomes,
Brought joy to so many Oakland homes,
Lester, Donaldson, Doolittle, Vogt,
Their season stolen by base-thieving gnomes.


Published in Kansas City Royals, Management, Oakland Athletics, Players, Pure doggerel, Stu Shea, The Game Itself | Link to this poem | No Comments

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