Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
by Stu Shea
What’s in a Name?
Elijah Dukes will use his fists,
Delmon Young has room to grow.
James Shields gives protection to his team.
Jorge Cantu just can’t play,
And Jae Ryu’s goose is Kuked,
While Carlos’ twinge of Pena makes him scream.
But nothing Maddons a manager more
Than giving up a five-run lead,
Burning a bullpen
That sucks indeed.
Posted after the Rays gave up six runs in the bottom of the ninth to lose to the Blue Jays, 12-11, on June 5.
As I sat in Section 660
Above the field where Gehrig trod,
I cursed the Yankees’ inept play
And muttered grudging praise to A-Rod.
Then a booming voice erupted,
Rattling beams and shaking sod.
Had sanity up and left me?
Or did I just hear the voice of God?
All eyes sought out the owner’s box
Where George S. kept his shrimp-stuffed bod.
What revelation would be uttered that
Had this crowd’s undies in a wad?
There stood Rocket Roger to declaim
(Feel free whenever to applaud)
That he’d weighed golf versus sleeping late,
And deigned to give the Yanks the nod.
“Hooray!” bellowed the drunken crowd,
Mouths agape like fresh-caught cod.
Yet I sat there with no response,
Unmoved, unsure, ungaped, unawed.
The feeling grew within me
With more than one fantod,
That this mercenary egomaniac
Wouldn’t rescue this year’s squad.
He’d win a game or three and show
His skills were not a fraud,
Then retire again, then change his mind,
A greedy, charmless, pumped-up clod.
Though many things, George S. is not
A cowardly tightwad,
But bills come due. Next year our costs
Will feel quite like a doctor’s prod.
by James Finn Garner
Oh, it isn’t easy
Being A.J. Pierzynski.
Not one to appease, he
Is always called sleazy.
He’s never mistaken
For Francis Assisi.
He’d start a rhubarb
In a game of Parcheesi.
Ozzie will say that
He’ll see him in Hades–he
Then says they’re twins,
Near Siamese-y.
Other team’s say his
Play’s pretty cheesy.
If bad vibes were pollen,
The whole league would be sneezy.
But to find a smart catcher
Ain’t easy-peasy.
I’d rather hunt crocs on
The River
Like being the man
On the flying trapeze-y,
It ain’t never easy
Being A.J. Pierzynski.
by Stu Shea
I.
Is there anyone Tiger fans are fonder than
Than Jeremy Bonderman?
Can any Bengal take the ball to left field
Better than Sheffield?
And who’s their best hitter? Everyone says
It’s Mags Ordonez.
Is any pitcher more likely to zoom the ball by ya
Than Joel Zumaya?
II.
But can anyone’s batting average make fans cringe
More than Brandon Inge?
by James Finn Garner
Now, everyone knows it’s legit
When Barry Bonds strokes out a hit.
It ain’t no shot in the rear
With the cream or the clear.
It’ s…genes and….hard work and…like, that shit.