Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
How bad were the White Sox?
Three games worse than the Cubs.
The Cubs,
Who played like shubdubs,
Like scrubs,
Like Triple-A subs,
Who made each day a gallery of flubs,
Those ridiculous bubs,
Who gave their fans the nubs,
Who drove those fans to local pubs,
To drown their sorrows in bad beer from huge tubs
And eat greasy deep-fried grub
That hardens their arteries like cigarette stubs
And makes them all fat.
The Sox were worse than that.
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.
The Asian bird flu,
From what I remember,
Was easier to get rid of
Than Sox tix in September.
The Pontiac Aztek
And White Castle sliders
Have more satisfied fans
Than Chicago’s South Siders.
With the Bears suited up and
Hockey season not far,
The Cell now won’t have fans
Enough to jump your car.
Long gone’s the excitement
Of AJ, Oz and Buerhle.
At 35th and Shields,
Winter’s come early.
The worst thing I can think of
(Besides painful boils)
Is Rex Hudler and Steve Physioc
Announcing the Royals.
Baseball in August creates many jobs
for travel agents and typesetting slobs.
Rehab assignments, Triple A spot starts,
Pennant aspirants shopping for spare parts.
Roster gods move in mysterious ways–
David DeJesus, three teams in five days?
Colin Cowgill’s grin, Billy Buckner’s frown.
Holy Toledo, Phil Coke’s been sent down!
Some guys can’t clear waivers; others released,
Plus one salary dump in the NL East.
(The Mets helped Pittsburgh in a deal most absurd—
Just tossed them a Buck and flipped them a Byrd.)
Eduardo Sanchez, gone from the big club.
But Ma Arrieta, Jake’s now a Cub!
Brad Boxberger sighs, packs for the bushes.
John Axford heads where the playoff push is.
Contenders reload, pretenders cut bait.
Hey Tuffy Goseswisch, Reno’s your fate.
Jose Constanza the Braves did recall,
with hopes that he’ll help them deep into Fall.
Philly’s less Savery—no Joe in the bigs;
Report sir, at once, to the Iron Pigs.
Ross Wolf’s been optioned to Round Rock Express,
while the Dodgers scooped up Edinson Volquez.
One-line transactions, a queer kind of fame.
Vic Black, you’ve become “Player To Be Named.”
Xavier Avery’s now a Rainier,
maybe Seattle, he’ll see you next year?
Michael X. Ferraro is a writer/producer/lyricist who scans the fine print daily to make sure he hasn’t been outrighted to Lehigh Valley.