Browse all poems and songs in the 'Minnesota Twins' Category


The Baseball Brawl

By Millie Bovich

It all started when the pitcher threw a ball too much inside,
And the batter kinda whispered, “This guy’s style I can’t abide.”

When it happened sure a second time in inning Number Three,
Thought the batter, more suspicious, “Did he try to dump on me?”

So the manager protesting gave the ump a nasty sign
And a number of his teammates jumped right up and crossed the line.

Then the bench began to empty and the team all rose as one–
That’s precisely as it happened when the donnybrook spun on.

The other bench rose also, running towards the pitcher’s mound,
And the grays and whites all tangled and a couple hit the ground.

Caps and mitts went flying, with the pitching mound a mess,
And the lefty center fielder came right in without duress,

Then the language got specific when the knuckles hit their mark,
And the melee just intensified that Sunday at the park.

There was shoving, there was pushing, there were words we can’t repeat.
Not a fan in Tiger home field was ensconced upon his seat.

We couldn’t tell was gray or white, but someone threw a punch,
And who knows where it landed in that sweaty, brawling bunch?

Then a fielder smacked a shortstop, and the rook from second base
Joined the brouhaha depositing his fist on catcher’s face,

But the fella at the organ played and never missed a note,
His talented musicality endeav’ring to promote.

The relievers in the bullpen thought they’d never get the call,
But they stopped their practice pitches and proceeded to the brawl.

The bag at first stood empty, he wouldn’t be left out,
Then he decked a tall right fielder, that’s what he was all about.

Sure, the crowd became unruly, they had come to watch a game.
“This ain’t hockey,” from the box seats, “but I like it just the same.”

They whistled and they hollered, it was all that you could hear,
And someone in the bleachers spilled a 32-ounce beer.

“Mayhem, this is mayhem,” said the lady in the hat,
But the brawlers kept on brawling, disregarding all of that.

The people in the grandstands screamed their epithets as well,
And what broke loose that afternoon was bloody, holy hell.

Someone bumped the hawkster selling dogs and frosty drink,
And the mustard pot spilled over and the place began to stink.

The player guarding second ran, his teammates to defend,
And the television spokesman yelled, “Who knows how this will end?”

Now third base too was vacant when the player there joined in,
And you couldn’t hear the ump above the tumult and the din.

So 40,000 fans were there and some were almost numb,
To witness what the papers said was pandemonium.

And years from now some Tiger fans will swear that they were there,
When the baseball brawl erupted with which nothing can compare.

Finally, yes, finally, the umps regained control,
With common sense and pleading and a trifle of cajole.

So it ended with no inj’ries and each player took his post
With no thought of his activities about which he could boast.

The fans regained composure and each settled in the sun,
And the record books recorded that the Detroit Tigers won!

 



Autumn’s New Retirees

by James Finn Garner

Before the Fall gets underway,
Let us doff our caps and say
Goodbye to those who’ll junk¬†their cleats,
Leave the park and walk the streets.

Super-versatile Angel Chone
Will now be the utility man at home.
Grant Balfour, hothead Aussie,
Can only fume when his wife gets bossy.

Phil Humber’s vaunted perfect game
Was his sole stat worth noting (such a shame).
The Prince has trouble with his neck–
He’ll inspire no more fear on-deck.

Tex and A-Rod will leave the Yanks
And all their fans will mumble thanks,
While Raf Soriano has called an end
To tell war stories, a fine fireman.

But let’s not forget the other guys,
Young tyros once, with starry eyes,
Who gave their all but somehow missed
The general manager’s call-up list.

They’re just as key to the game as any
Adam LaRoche or Brad Penny.
Talent, drive and dreams they bid,
Just like us when we were kids.

 



“The Philadelphia Fillies” by Del Reeves

 



Torii Hunter is Retiring

By Stuart Shea

Farewell, Torii,
Always a good story . . .
With your amazing catches,
Your religious dispatches,
Your homers and doubles,
Your OBP troubles.
You don’t like gay marriage,
But you don’t have to get one,
And I hope you enjoy the rest of your life,
With your kids and your wife.

 



Thanks, Steve Jobs

by Doug Fahrendorff

Another pennant race
Winding down
This morning
I opened my iPad
Clicked MLB.com
Checking last night’s scores
And video highlights
Playoff celebrations
For Yankees and Blue Jays
Mike Trout makes another fantastic catch
The Twins still alive in wildcard chase
A vast difference
From the first pennant race I followed
When the evening paper was the main source
Of information
Technology brings the game
Into our living rooms
Looking forward
To another October

 

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Copyright 2007 Bardball.