But When Quintana Pitches…

by RJ Lesch

Those White Sox batters? They’re a fearsome bunch.
For power or for average they can hit.
Most every day they pack a deadly punch.
But when Quintana pitches, they all sit.

The South Side Glove Men all have awesome range.
Their fielding prowess makes opponents moan.
Their hands are sure and soft, and so it’s strange
That when Quintana pitches, they are stone.

Chicago’s mighty bullpen has no peer.
Their supple arms throw filthy stuff indeed.
They face the toughest hitters with no fear.
But when Quintana starts, they blow the lead.

Jose Quintana’s skill we all esteem,
But when the poor guy pitches, where’s his team?


Published in Chicago White Sox, Players, Pure doggerel, Sonnets | Link to this poem | No Comments

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