by Michael X. Ferraro
Did the lady have too much whiskey?
She was howling for “cute Richie Zisky.”
While the organ played “Charge!”
Annie Oakley loomed large —
There’ve been shots fired at former Comiskey!
The Safety-Off Squeeze
by Michael X. Ferraro
Fan behavior is often quite risky
at the park that was once called Comiskey.
The joint nearly got wrecked
when run by Bill Veeck
and now a patron who snarled, “Don’t frisk me.”
Gut Check Time
by Greg Simetz
Fans remember well
Thompson’s ‘Shot Heard ‘Round the World’
Giants fans cheered
Dodgers fans hurled
But a new shot was heard
at Guaranteed Rate
causing Sox fans to scatter
after only Beer Number Eight
A smuggled gun went undected
In belly fat it was tucked
And when the lard pulled the trigger
even LaRussa woke up
One person was wounded
another was grazed
but the White Sox kept playing
losers still but unfazed
Then peace was restored
when cops ID’d the plump chick
and in court she was sentenced
to life on Ozempic.
The Monster Eats Tonight
by Michael X. Ferraro
Been battered by Boggs and peppered by Pudge.
Dented by Dustin and jarred by A. Judge.
Pounded by Papi and tattooed by ‘Tek.
They call me the Monster, but I ain’t no Shrek.
For 89 years I’ve endured much abuse.
From a diet of line drives, my screws are all loose.
Remodeled by Ripken, mangled by Manny.
Yaz played my caroms, but then spanked my fanny.
My favorite New England season? Winter!
(That’s when I laid low from that Splendid Splinter.)
Was walloped by Winfield, rattled by Rice.
Killebrew concussed me, not once but twice.
Two decades ago, they put seats on my head!
(“Stop playing the martyr,” my therapist said.)
So tall that I fall prey to mid-section shots,
from Boomers and Deweys, to Mookies and Trots.
Some were mere scrapes, yet others… keelhaulings.
But the name I loathe most has got to be “Rawlings.”
Smirky baseballs, too big for their britches,
marking me up with horsehide and stitches.
Well, karma’s a bitch and revenge soothes the soul—
last week against KC, I swallowed one whole.
Do not shrug me off as some iconic feature;
I am a mean, green, most gluttonous creature.
Pay heed, Fenway faithful, the beast’s been unleashed.
The warning track knows that quite soon … I … SHALL … FEAST!
Well that’s something we’ve never seen before. pic.twitter.com/3eFMzCQ3hC
— NESN (@NESN) August 10, 2023
Michael X. Ferraro was the sports editor of Boston University’s award-winning Daily Free Press, which enabled him to ponder the Green Monster on the Fenway grass with the likes of Sam Horn, Marty Barrett, Sparky Anderson, Jim Walewander and Lee Smith. More recently, he is the author of Circus Catch, a satirical sports novel set in the golden age of American Cheating.
For Jim Price (1941-2023)
by Stuart Shea
Curve—yellow hammer—breaks down hard
Can the pitcher keep it in the yard?
Was it tougher to catch a pitch
From Mickey Lolich
Or to scaffold Ernie Harwell’s last act?
Now a voice of memory is stilled,
But promises were fulfilled.
He won a ring. He did his thing.
Known from Marquette to Flint,
His life’s work a flash, a glint,
A wind wafting through dozens of summers.
Stu Shea, the co-founder of Bardball, is the author of numerous books, including Calling the Game: Baseball Broadcasting from 1920 to the Present.
