Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
A wildcat did prowl
The wind began to howl
and Oddibe McDowell
belongs in a Bob Dylan song.
.
Jim Siergey is the author and illustrator of the Cubs alternate history If They Did It. You can see more of his illustration work at his website here.
We cannot know his legendary head,
We cannot know his riddle-speak, his swing,
His heart that greets no consequence, no dread.
Oblivious (or publicly misread),
He went forth like a jester, like a king.
We cannot know his legendary head.
Ramirez never anguished, never bled.
Perfection seemed a right and simple thing.
His heart? It greets no consequence, no dread.
A paradox: collective joy and dread
Awash in pride and drunk on estrogen–
We cannot know his legendary head.
A selfish man and insecure, they said.
But maybe public shame can even sting
A heart that greets no consequence, no dread.
And maybe all the jokes had turned to lead,
The time had come to leave the center ring.
We’ll never know his legendary head,
His heart that greets no consequence, no dread.
Eric writes the terrific blog Pitchers & Poets. One of his posts from P&P appears in the 2010 edition of Best American Sports Writing.
By Stuart Shea
CHICAGO WHITE SOX
Will Morel mushroom
into a good third baseman
Or just become waste?
CLEVELAND INDIANS
Um…Jack Hannanan?
In the lineup? At third base?
It’s not April 1.
DETROIT TIGERS
The Tigers, a team
of 25 question marks.
A growl? A meow?
KANSAS CITY ROYALS
Ending up with Jeff
Francoeur…that’s a real bad day
At the rummage sale.
MINNESOTA TWINS
If he keeps winning,
Carl Pavano can look like
A porn star all year.
Counting: 15 out of 16 years past
to Yankee playoff possibility:
Pirates? Padres? The Indians, e.g.?
(the list of small- & medium-market
teams is as long as owners’ ledgers)
a dis-service to their fans:
So don’t argue:
That your team owners may be committed
to money to profit not to bases counted
or games won: to profit sharing:
& so much for quality & parity
Some teams are designed to contend
others merely to make money
Have the Twins sold their soul to the devil?
Have they penned a new contract in blood?
Has their lust for a title bereft them
Of a compass to tell bad from good?
What else can explain their performance?
Half the team’s on the disabled list,
while rooks amble up from the minors
Like Joe Jackson in a cornfield mist.
Thome’s swing has shrugged off a decade,
And Pavano now hurls like an ace.
Something’s hinky, you know, with these Twinkies.
Have the precepts of God been replaced?
Yet one sable evening in Cleveland
Came the devil’s own agent, Fausto.
For their pride he pulled ’em back to the pit.
Ol’ Nick will be paid what he’s owed.
Posted 9/14/10