Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
The hitter for our era
Triple Crown Miguel Cabrera
Texas falls to wild card
From A’s maulers going yard
Yankees claim at last the East
Atlanta goes to best from least
All the pieces now in place
For the annual October race
But my joy is kept in check
Hearing of Pat Neshek
Whose baby boy Gehrig passed on
Amidst all the celebrations
We cheer as one
But grieve alone
November comes
And we are gone
All will be forgiven
If we keep on livin’
Oh, 5 thru 9 please get on base
I’m not lyin’
I’ve been cryin’
When you’re up to bat in your place
The hittin’ coach is at fault, the nerve!
He never taught you to hit the curve.
Oh, 5 thru 9 you can ding their ace.
You could really help down the stretch
Maybe it’s Roy’s “Wonderboy” you could fetch
Oh, 5 thru 9 join the chase
Only 10 games remain
All year you have driven me insane
Oh, 5 thru 9 please help us win the race
Among Omar Infante’s dislikes
Must be incoming baserunners – Yikes!
To dodge getting maimed
Cost the Bengals the game —
One of inches, and feet wearing spikes.
Before nary a pitch had been thrown
One would swear that the outcome was known
To elude Detroit’s ace
Would be shrewd–no disgrace
And when e’er you can’t win, you postpone.
Though of rain, not a drip had yet dropped,
‘Fore the game even started they stopped
Of a squall not a trace,
But was called “Justn” case,
While the Sox the division still topped.
Hilary Barta publishes limericks on movies, monsters and pop culture every day at LimerWrecks.
I’m Jeff Baker, and I’ve got a role
Hitting left-handers is what I do.
Plug me into any old hole,
And I’ll hit .300–but field that, too.
Try me at third, or left, or right,
My glove is decent but I don’t move well.
My bat drags heavy, though my salary’s light,
And I wish that I had more to sell.
But hitting those southpaws gets me a gig–
I’ve already graced three teams this year!
With a bit more skill, my salary would be big,
But sometimes I’m just glad to be here.