by James Finn Garner
What th’ — BOSTON won the East?
Soaring up to best from least?
The experts’ toe tags read “Deceased”
But New York’s competitiveness ceased,
Baltimore’s upward path was greased.
Bet big on the Jays? You’re fleeced.
Of seafood the Carmines made a feast,
Muzzling that Tampa beast.
My faith is shaken — oh, call a priest!
I can’t believe they won the East!
by Michael X. Ferraro
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.
by Susan Petrone
Friday’s game against the Twins was one I really hoped we’d win
I figured it might be a fight. The Twins aren’t great, but they don’t bite.
Of course the question from word go was which Ubaldo J. would show.
The guy with the electric slider, or the one who makes you drink hard cider?
Top of one, bases full, no outs; it looked like it would be a rout.
Struck out the side, never fear–the Good Ubaldo J. was here!
Ten big strikeouts, holy crap! Too bad the offense took a nap.
The score read four walks, six hits, and one stinking run to show for it.
Final score was five to one. This is not what you’d call fun.
At losing we are quite adroit, unlike those guys up in Detroit.
Tigers won, so did the Rays. I hope the Orioles beat the A’s.
If it isn’t too pretentious, check the odds at Baseball Prospectus.
We may yet play into October, (yes, THIS October and yes, I’m sober).
Thus I’ll wait to drown my sorrows. Let’s see if they win tomorrow.
Susan Petrone blogs about the Tribe at the site, It’s Pronounced Lajaway.
by D. Bruce Brown
A nation believes
That their guys can win it all
History says no
Fighting a drab park
Evan isn’t an All-Star?
Our starters will shine
Is Davis for real?
His weight room feats are unreal
The bullpen will tell
An EMT’s dream
But Girardi knows winning
How is Cano’s knee?
Can we go from first
To last in the same season?
The rest must collapse
Billy Beane is a genius
Damn! Who ARE these guys?
So very close twice
Making believers of fans
If only Nolan could pitch
Los Angeles (AoA)
Tons of star power
Swept at home by the Astros
What is going on?
They perform for loyal fans
Wait! Ichiro’s where?
Switching leagues might help
Two thousand and five was great
But so long ago
Pitching’s no problem
The best hitter in baseball
These cats have a bite!
Once given for dead
With lectures from Chris Perez
Francona’s now boss
AL’s small market
Yet they have players to watch
Brett’s in the dugout
Trying to build stars
Is hard when your DH is Plouffe
Mauer can still hit
South Siders are glum
Sale should have been MVP
Git up! Git up! Stretch!
D. Bruce Brown has posted daily trivia questions for Horsehide Trivia since 1997. He is also the president of the Bob Davids chapter of SABR.
by James Finn Garner
Was expecting a big night
On his home field
With the rest of the Mets concealed.
Not too long ago
Was the picture of Yankee youth.
Now even he is long in the tooth.
If he were a flavor of gelado,
Would be, I’d bet,
Orioles black-and-orange sherbet.
On the days the smelt ran
Would’ve rather been at the lake fishing
Than at the plate swishing.
Is young, hearty and hale.
It’s the White Sox’s bats
That cripple his stats.