by The Village Elliott
Moe Berg was both a catcher and spy,
And the Big Leagues’ most erudite guy.
Spoke languages many,
But couldn’t hit in any
Unless curve ball hung up “lettered” high.
by Tony Puma
“Take me out to the ball game”
Please stand for the National Anthem.
The Home Team takes the field: PLAY BALL!
Bottom of third, man on base,
pitch low and inside, count 3 & 2.
Fastball, strike 3, Batter out.
Man left on base.
The Mick, Duke, Willie, Jackie, Pee Wee,
The Scooter, Yogi, Joe D., Dizzy and Daffy,
Who’s on first. Abbott & Costello.
Red Sox and White Sox.
“take me out with the crowd”
Twi-light double header:
Cardinals and Orioles.
Da’ Reds/Dem Bums/ The Gas House Gang
Murderers Row/ The Bronx Bombers.
Reliever: South Paw ,Knuckleballer, 2.52 ERA.
The Sultan of Swat/The Splendid Splinter.
The Iron Man.
Lou Gehrig’s disease.
“buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack”
Bottom of 7th, nothing-nothing.
Seventh inning stretch.
Padres and Angels.
A No-Hitter/A Perfect Game.
“I don’t care if I never get back”
Designated Hitter/Pinch Hitter.
Foul ball/Double play.
Catcher gives the sign.
Tying run at the Plate.
The Yankees win the World Series!
Brooklyn Dodgers and New York Giants:
Topps Baseball cards.
Indians and Braves.
Can’t anyone here play this game?
“let me root, root, root for the home team”
Rain delay/Box scores/Extra innings/K’s/RBI’s.
Only the ball was white.
Where have you gone Joe Dimaggio . . .
Devil Rays and Marlins.
Frozen Rope/Texas Leaguer.
Bull Pen/Home Plate/Batter’s Box.
Old-Timers Day/All Star Game.
I GOT IT!
“if they don’t win, it’s a shame”
Tagged out/Stolen base.
A swing and a miss.
Pitcher’s mound/Rosin bag/The Rubber.
Red Bird/Phillie Phanatic.
Cubs and Tigers.
A Sinker, down-and-out.
“for it’s one, two , three strikes you’re out
I watch a group of kids playing
baseball in a cow pasture.
“at the old Ball Game.”
By R.J. Lesch
With two men out, Glen Perkins turned to look
toward the third base stands, and then he smiled.
The local boy, as in a storybook,
or sandlot fantasies of any child,
could hear the Minnesota crowd. And they
were chanting out his name, their joy undamped
as he closed out the All Star Game. They say
the Nordic folk don’t often get so amped.
And closers should be ice and stone, you see.
But out there on the diamond, who could blame
A boy who once hit baseballs off a tee
For grinning big and wide? But all the same,
the closer and the catcher, not done yet,
went back to work, with one more out to get.
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
Mauer ain’t sour,
He’s heretofore banished from
Those bad Twins hurlers.
by Susan Petrone
I’ve never been much for numbers, I’ve always preferred words.
Fractions, sets, and integers lose out to nouns and verbs.
But this time of year I find myself in a mathematical dance
Trying hard to calculate the Indians’ playoff chance.
If KC can beat Detroit, the Tigers drop a game
But that won’t help us out at all ‘cuz then the Royals gain.
If the Twins can beat the A’s (and there’s frost in hell),
We’ll move up in the Wild Card and that would be just swell.
Percentage-wise, our playoff chance is not quite one in five
(Okay, nineteen point three percent in sabermetic jive).
That’s down from Wednesday but up from last week so it’s not a tragedy.
Overall our chances show a slight upward traject’ry.
All this talk about the odds and match-ups and the rest
Doesn’t address the simplest solution that’s the best:
Just have the Tribe win every game in a run-inducing flurry,
I’ll buy my playoff tix and leave the other teams to worry.
Susan Petrone regularly posts on the Indians at It’s Pronounced Lajaway.