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The Closest Thing to a Cubs World Series

by Sid Yiddish

Now that Barack Obama has won the U.S. presidential election, it’s the closest thing the Northside will ever be in contention, let alone get to a World Series, even if Obama is from the Southside.
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You see, unlike the Chicago Cubs fans who relentlessly enjoy beating up their rivals bloody, both physically and with words, the White Sox fans wouldn’t do it even if you offered them all the money in the world, because like Obama & his crew, all those guys who support those who wear the black & white uniforms know the right thing to do.
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They know how to stick together, through all kinds of nasty weather and just rough it in the muddy playing fields, even if there’s no yielding or letting up or break in-between.
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See, that’s how the Southside grows, just takes what they are given and goes with the flow.
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So, it’s time to put aside that loveable losers blue and have a little pride for a change, because now that Obama has won the election, it’s a great victory for all of us!
.

Not
Republican
Versus
Dem.
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Unlike Cubs fans who always cry out, “Wait ‘til next year,” next year is here for Obama and the rest of us, starting right now.

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For more on Sid Yiddish’s poetry, music and performances, check out his My Space page.

Posted 11/13/08

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The Suspension of ’08: Games 5A and 5B

by Todd Herges

The game was huge, as all involved know well.
It started with pomp, tradition and a pitch,
Then rain began, in sheets grew to a swell.

The field got wet, began to go to hell.
Tarp and sand were tried, but mattered not which.
The game was huge, as all involved know well.

A crew of groundsmen have a tale to tell.
If not for them would be no final catch.
The rain kept up, in sheets grew to a swell.

Lighting the swamp, a giant neon bell.
All prayed for sun lest park become a ditch.
The game was huge, as all involved know well.

The man on top, Commish, he made the call.
(This being-in-charge can really be a bitch.)
The rain did end, and Phils could victory smell.

Each Ray’s iPod echoed the same dark knell.
If but could face a Williams, maybe Mitch!
The game was huge, as all involved know well.
The rain asterisked rules, grew to a swell.

Posted 11/6/08

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Where Will All The Feral Cats in Shea Stadium Go?

by Sid Yiddish

Apologies to Pete Seeger and his “Where Have All The Flowers Gone?”

Where will all the feral cats in Shea Stadium go?
Long time hissing,
Where will all the feral cats in Shea Stadium go?

Perhaps they’ll go live down in the sewers
with all the giant super rats,
that’ll make tasty meals for all those cats

Oh, where will they all go?
Oh, where will they all go?

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Where will all the feral cats in Shea Stadium go?
Long time hissing,
Where will all the feral cats in Shea Stadium go?

Now that Durocher’s not there
To stare him down,
Well I guess that’s what Lou Pinella is for

Oh, where will they all go?
Oh, where will they all go?

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Where will all the feral cats in Shea Stadium go?
Long time hissing,
Where will all the feral cats in Shea Stadium go?

Maybe they’ll all hook up with Billy Joel; he needs a new backing band,
if that last album of his doesn’t tell
you anything, then these cats will

Oh, where will they all go?
Oh, where will they all go?

.
Where will all the feral cats in Shea Stadium go?
Long time hissing,
Where will all the feral cats in Shea Stadium go?

They’ll go clubbing with Howard Stern
He can never have enough cats on each arm,
While turning on that shock-jock charm

Oh, where will they all go?
Oh, where will they all go?

.
Where will all the feral cats in Shea Stadium go?
Long time hissing,
Where will all the feral cats in Shea Stadium go?

To feed the hungry, to feed the poor
Who can never afford much more than they make
Catsup & salt upon feral cat steak!

Oh, where will they all go?
Oh, where will they all go?

For more on Sid Yiddish’s poetry, music and performances, check out his My Space page.

Posted 10/28/08

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On Rocking and Rolling and Focus

by Todd Herges

Why is it that the nation’s wide-angle lens
is replaced each Fall with an electron microscope?

The better to focus in on a game –  the pastime –
an inning
an at-bat
a single pitch!

And how is it that this incredibly narrow-focused lens
can yet cause the scorecard to ignite
even though the days have grown so short,
the nights so cool,
the games so long?

The players step up to the plate,
they step up their games.
Crunch time.
It’s all been laid on the line.

And with tens of thousands screaming
within easy earshot,
and tens of millions more watching,
this fact easily near the top
of each player’s mind,
somehow, some way, they
show us heroics.

Posted  10/27/08

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Whore Me Out at the SkyBox

by James Finn Garner

In honor of the 100th anniversary of “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” and the 85th and final year of Yankee Stadium.

Casey Kelly had quite the job,
Quite the envy of every slob.
This businessman was a slip’ry eel,
Cutting deals, greasing wheels.
He knew f*ck-all of the national game,
But of this he was not ashamed.
When he saw poor saps lined up at the park
Trying to buy tickets, he’d bark,

“Whore me out at the skybox!
My firm takes care of the tab.
Clients just flew in from Washington.
We need to get plastered to get the deal done.
Oh, we’ll write this off on our taxes,
Champagne, sirloin and fresh lox.
We might

EVEN

WATCH

SOME

Of the game
From our sweet skybox!”

Posted 10/23/08