Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
From gonfalon
To woebegone
KC fans are crying like their fountain
That James Shields
A smorgasbord yields?
A surprise (save Joe Buck) to no one.
The Giant hill ace
Has a fall ERA
So small as to be microscopic
While it’s time for “Big Game”
To drop the nickname
And meetings for that MLB biopic.
The Giants are flirting with destiny,
The Royals are a star-crossed team —
Yet neither got the goodwill scrutiny
In Vegas, where hope is but a dream.
Blind Vegas wrote reams
Of its number streams,
The odds which it put down on paper,
But no one, it seems,
Trusted these two teams
To play for it all in October.
Wild card teams took each league’s gonfalon,
Both the Giants and Royals now play on,
.    Well-matched World Series picks,
.    Think they’ll split the first six,
Best team wins seventh Game marathon.
Hey, know-all’s — you once confidently said
The World Series this year is for the birds.
But surprise . . . your Cardinals and Orioles
Have flown south in avian farewell.
You may analyse ’til you are blue,
But that old adage, it still holds true:
Pitching, not hitting, wins in postseason.
The Giants, the Royals have this in legion.
The Oriole got stuffed.
Mounted, on the shelf
By sweeping Royal decree . . .
It was a KC taxidermy.