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Clerihews for the 1968 Tigers

by James Finn Garner

On the occasion of the  50th anniversary…

Mickey Lolich
Sure knew how to pitch
And after mowing down opponents
He retired to make the donuts.

Mickey Stanley
Really came in handy.
Move to shortstop from center field?
Hey, Mayo, no big deal!

Stormin’ Norman Cash
All muscle, no flash
A steady squint, a Texas drawl
And a hunk of chaw to finish it all.

Bill Freehan
Was quite the he-man
Proud to stand up and block
The plate from Lou Brock.

Denny McLain
Was a royal pain–
A rip-off artist, a fraud, a sumbitch–
But in ’68, the bastard knew how to pitch.

Al Kaline
Hit .379
Drove in eight runs
And deserved every bit of his fun.

 

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Sock it to ’em, Tigers

by James Finn Garner

The transistor radio
I smuggled into
Sister Geraldine’s class
Broadcast heavenly images

The centerfielder moved to short
The old lion roaming in right
The mighty arms of Willie the Wonder
The soulful stare of Lolich
The plate protected by Freehan
(None shall pass)

All the saints and martyrs
Bringing a miracle to Motown
Narrated by the voice of God
In his sweet Georgia drawl

 

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Miguel Cabrera

by Stephen Jones

One big swing of the bat,
But instead of making good contact,
It’s a ruptured bicep tendon
Which ends Cabrera’s season.

As said by one baseball pundit:
“There goes Detroit’s offense–
All of it.”

 

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The Only Way

by George Moriarty

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“Is there a way to stop the Sox,
And strew their pennant path with rocks?”
An alien rooter asked one day.

A White Sox rooter heard the quiz,
And promptly said, “You bet there is;
Jot this down as the only way:

Choke Eddie Collins til he’s dead. Shoot Happy Felsch right in the head.
Send Weaver on an ocean trip and have a U-boat sink the ship.
Feed Gandil pork chops, fat or lean, in which you hide some paris green.
Then tie that catcher, Pee Wee Schalk, upon the back of some wild hawk.
Get Risbert in an autor wreck, in which said auto breaks his neck.
For Faber, just invent some trick to make him eat some arsenic.
Put Cicotte on a fast train which speeds onward through an open switch.
Place Shano in an airship bound to dash his daylights to the ground.
Pierce Mister Joe’s heart with a knife, and jail Reb Russell for his life.
Take Pitcher Danforth, long and slim, and push a building onto him.
McMullin and the other men–cast them into a lion’s den.
And last of all, but hardly least, feed Gleason to some wildish beast.
This scheme,” the White Sox rooter said, “will lend some other team ahead.”

 

George Moriarty (1884-1964) played third base for 10 years, mostly with Detroit, and later worked as manager, newspaper columnist, poet and, for 22 years, as a major league umpire.