Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
By Stuart Shea
Yes, you heard right!
Underachieving major league ballplayers
Available for pennies on the dollar!
Hoot and holler
And make your way
To 35th and Shields today!
Visit Kenny Williams’ close-out old-sock sale!
Don’t wait for a flyer in the mail
Because this offer only lasts til
All the talent is gone,
Or September 30, whichever comes first.
.
Posted 9/8/2009
Stu’s new book, Pink Floyd FAQ, is available now! Â
by Dan Quisenberry (KC Royals, 1979-1988)
.
that first baseball card I saw myself
in a triage of rookies
atop the bodies
that made the hill
we played king of
I am the older one
the one on the right
game-face sincere
long red hair unkempt
a symbol of the ’70s
somehow a sign of manhood
you don’t see
how my knees shook on my debut
or my desperation to make it
the second one I look boyish with a gap-toothed smile
the smile of a guy who has it his way
expects it
I rode the wave’s crest
of pennant and trophies
I sat relaxed with one thought
“I can do this”
you don’t see
me stay up till two
reining in nerves
or post-game hands that shook involuntarily
glory years catch action shots
arm whips and body contortions
a human catapult
the backs of those cards
cite numbers
that tell stories of saves, wins, flags, records
handshakes, butt slaps, celebration mobs
you can’t see
the cost of winning
lines on my forehead under the hat
trench line between my eyes
you don’t see my wife, daughter and son
left behind
the last few cards
I do not smile
I grim-face the camera
tight lipped
no more forced poses to win fans
eyes squint
scanning distance
crow’s-feet turn into eagle’s claws
you don’t see
the quiver in my heart
knowledge that it is over
just playing out the end
I look back
at who I thought I was
or used to be
now, trying to be funny
I tell folks
I used to be famous
I used to be good
they say
we thought you were bigger
I say
I was
.
Published 9/2/2009
by James Finn Garner
Ten little Indians–
Contenders every time!
One gets dealt for spending cash,
Now there’s only nine.
Nine little Indians
Playing by the lake.
One’s worth five Dominican catchers.
Now there’s only eight.
Eight little Indians
Hoping they can score.
Half are waived without a claim.
Now there’s only four.
Four little Indians.
At least they have Cliff Lee.
Ooops! Lee’s been swapped to Philly.
Now there’s only three.
Three little Indians
(Not counting Chief Wahoo).
“This is a rebuilding year.”
Now there’s only two.
Two little Indians.
How can they score a run?
One quits to become a fully trained self-employed professional health care technician.
Now there’s only one.
One little Indian.
What an awful pity
If he had to pack his bags
For Oklahoma City.
 Published 8/13/09
by James Finn Garner
.
Ken Williams wasn’t skeevy
About getting Jake Peavy.
Though he’s got a bum ankle
And his record should rankle,
He’ll spare us the terrors
Of Jose Contreras.
Published 8/11/09
by James Finn Garner
.
Scottie Pods, Scottie Pods,
What were the chances?
Oh, what were the odds?
Cut by the Rockies because you’re too old–
Your step getting heavy, your bat growing cold–
The Pale Hose invite you back into the fold
And you climb your way back like the grinder of old.
Fans love a player still hungry and bold
Who refuses to note for whom the bell’s tolled.
In the hot summer night, the scoreboard explodes
As you dig hard to mine one more season of gold.
Scottie Pods, Scottie Pods,
What were the chances?
Oh, what were the odds?
.
Posted 8/6/2009