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The Prime of Mr. Vladimir Guerrero

By Stuart Shea

Standing tall and smiling, a friendly Angel with no halo,
Vladimir Guerrero.
It’s hard to believe he once was an Expo.

It hurts just to watch him run,
Gobbling turf with gigantic strides,
Hobbling on rusty knees.

Still lets baseballs loose like cannon fire,
Nailing some runners and
Scattering buckshot into the stands.

Tattoos pitches wherever they’re thrown,
High in the zone or at his ankles,
Just like Clemente.
And I’ll tell you what rankles—we’re ignoring him.

We’re watching a great player RIGHT NOW.
See that line-drive triple? How he legged it out, limping like a war vet,
Sliding in, a big grin,
Clapping his hands?
For God’s sake, people, stand up for the man!!

Posted 4/30/08 

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Ode to the Pontiff

By Doug White

The Pope in his big funny hat
Gave mass where Joe Torre once sat

A little old lady
Said, “Well yea, but maybe

What would Ron Blomberg say about that?”

Posted 4/21/08 

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The Game of the Name

by Stu Shea

I.
Gallardo and Bazardo and Pichardo and DiNardo.
Baseball names are the funniest words,
Spoken loudly in public context.
You never know what’s next—
The announcer may yell, “Uggla, deep to left!”
Which only makes sense if you know the game.
What, indeed, is in a name?
Someone named “Pujols” can feel no shame…
In fact, he’s a hero instead of a zero.

II.
Prince Fielder can’t field,
And Lackey won’t yield,
Webb catches hitters, and Young’s getting old,
Holliday’s happy, but the Giants can’t Winn,
Corey’s got Hart and J.J. is Hardy,
Does Ryan need Church to wash away sin?

III.
I-Rod,
A-Rod,
K-Rod.

Posted 4/17/08

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OPENING DAY…

By Gary Gillette

Opening Day. Green.
April grass: green. Ballpark, green.
Fans’ hearts red—heads blue.

Posted 4/8/08