Browse all poems and songs in the 'Cleveland Indians' Category

The Awful Throw

by Stephen Jones

Ryan Raburn’s awful throw –
Perhaps the most errant ever made
(At least so far this MLB season,
As tabloids quickly blurted) –
Left Cleveland fans in disbelief.

It was painful to watch and
Made ESPN’s “Not Top 10″

But, as one pundit did remark,
While Raburn is a Golden Glover
This one errant bit of fallibility
Reinforces our short-term memory and
“What’ve you done for me lately?”


Deke of The Week

by Michael X. Ferraro

There is no base coach at second.
Otherwise, Kipnis may’ve reckoned
that Jeter’s feigned catch was deceit
to get him to slide on his seat.
But doubled off first, he got burned
with a bitter life lesson learned:
Always keep your eye on the ball–
Not the guy who’s stamped for the Hall.

Here’s a video of Derek Jeter’s play at second that confused Jason Kipnis on Monday. Heh heh.

The Jinx is Not In

by Susan Petrone

There’s something I want to talk about but broach with apprehension,
For if you state the obvious, the Jinx will pay attention.

There is no monster in Lake Erie, of that you can be sure
But beware the Jinx who dwells within the salt mines off the shore.

The Cleveland Jinx is green and chunky with breath like stale burritos.
He wears flip-flops and a beer-stained jersey from Rocky Colavito.

When the team is doing poorly, you won’t see the Jinx,
There’s no fun in messing with a team that really stinks.

But when the Tribe shows signs of life and fans begin to hope,
The Jinx’s one-word answer is a loud, resounding “Nope.”

He’ll fiddle with the strike zone, the pine tar, or a mitt
And anything he thinks will stop a run-scoring base hit.

The Jinx can’t help it, it’s his job to purloin a winning streak
He lives upon our broken dreams and random bursts of pique.

So how does the Tribe fare? Of that of which we must not speak.
All that I can safely say is it’s been a hell of a good week.


Susan Patrone blogs about the Tribe at  It’s Pronounced Lajaway.

American League Central 2014 Spring Training Haiku

by Stuart Shea

Can the Sox play tough?
White indicates purity…
Are dirty suits allowed?

If only Swisher
Struck out more often…but then,
Truth ain’t poetry.

The old roar is gone…
No more sneaking cigarettes.
It’s a young man’s turn.

It is difficult
To keep from strangling youth with
High expectations.

Mauer ain’t sour,
He’s heretofore banished from
Those bad Twins hurlers.


There is No Joy in Bro-hio

by James Finn Garner

There is no joy in Bro-hio
As Tribe and Reds are shown the door.
Both teams vying for the Wild Card
But reality hit ‘em good and hard.
The Rays, always, a resourceful crew,
And Pittsburgh, you must admit, is due.

An I-71 Series is just a dream
If Dusty Baker helms your team.
With Nick Swisher on the roster,
October glory is hard to foster.
Next March it all begins anew
When balls start smacking into Chin-Soo Choo.


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Copyright 2007 Bardball.