Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
Peralta sees the hardball skip
Sees the speedy runner tip
To slide for second, flips
The ball to force … no? Oh sh**!
How’s he safe? Man, better get
Ready for the next man’s hit
Campana’s fast, let it rip!
Bang bang out! No?! Frick!
Umps call safe – here’s the Skip
Doesn’t matter, Cubs are slick
And set for win. Jhonny spits
his disgust. Tomorrow …
… he will hit
To the wall, back he goes, with a twirl
Grabs the ball, strikes a pose, then the hurl
. Though the term’s not “correct”
. I’ll be firm and direct:
I’m appalled Perkins “throws like a girl”
Hilary Barta shares his obsessions of old movies and comics at his daily limerick site, LimerWrecks.
Maybe I am the phantom of baseball
I will do anything for one more at bat
I know I can still hit MLB pitching
I can still hit a golf ball 380 yards
I have the hips of a 20 year old
I can
I have
I have a medical condition:
I love the game so much
Even in exhibition
Invite me for an old timers game
I will play
Anything for a look
Still dreaming of that one last
Trip of imagination
Back to the big leagues
I miss everything where did it go
Patrick Dubuque blogs regularly for Pitchers & Poets, where this first appeared.
Came out of high school, stayed in Texas awhile
Seems he just couldn’t make it all seem worthwhile
He’s movin’ on. He’s movin’ on.
Rangers said “So long son, go enjoy the sun”
He’s Marlin gone.
Minor leagues kept trading, kept cutting him loose
Never was the engine, just a little caboose
Seven years rolled on, they just moved on.
Finally majored a run in 2000 and 1
Would they keep him on?
Another year came and another deal too,
Milwaukee got him in 2002,
He still moved on, he was there and gone.
Led the league in base steals, tried to keep it real,
But they moved him on.
Chicago was home for a few good years
Got a World Series ring, a girl with bunny ears,
He’s carryin’ on, maybe he’ll stay on.
But another year came, and another ball game,
He packed and was gone.
Up in the mountains, till 2009,
Back to bat that year in the White Sox line,
Another movin’ on, another hometown gone.
Even though he had fans, Chicago had other plans
And they let him move on.
One year with the Royals, still stealing some base,
Let him go to the Dodgers, problems slowing his pace.
Trouble movin’ on, released and on his own.
Try up North, play the West, half-a-year at best
So he’s movin’ on.
Finally landed in Philly, more like Lackawanna
Scranton doesn’t really sound like baseball nirvana.
Will he be movin’ on? Sing that travelin’ song?
Thirteen teams, eighteen years, Hard to change your gears
And keep movin’ on.
The Northwest, known for its lumber,
Was at a loss to figure Phil Humber
Who deftly dialed the M’s number
In shadows, sun and penumber.
Could Starbucks have ended their slumber?
No matter, their bats were encumbered
In a masterpiece, shaded in umber,
The perfecto for new ace, Phil Humber