Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
Woe be to the nation’s fourth largest town
Houstonians always wore frown
Same legacy to St Louis’ Browns
Took Lord Baltimore’s town to gain a crown
1870 started the Braves in Beantown
Save for a ’14 miracle, they always went down
Never a final game winner strode the mound
Took til Atlanta for a winner to be found
The Tigers can hit
And everyone knows it,
Yet it don’t mean a thing
When the bullpen can’t close it.
Detroiters may reign
As kings of the Central,
But they’ll never go farther
When the bullpen is mental.
Valverde chugged water,
Swirled and spit,
And then he’d cough up
The game-winning hit.
Benoit filled in nicely,
But then he got sloppy,
Serving a granny
To the mighty Big Papi.
“We need a sure thing;
Get Nathan, doggone it.”
But his heater ain’t working;
He’s got nothing on it.
Dombrowski’s a genius;
Stole J.D. from the ’Stros,
But because of their bullpen,
They got swept by the O’s.
I’d deal to the Devil
Miguel Cabrera,
If only he’d trade me
Mariano Rivera.
In the shade of Freddie Gray
The empty stands sit still.
No fans to shout hooray.
No anthem sung today,
No luxury box will fill
In the shade of Freddie Gray.
On field, two teams display
Their valor, speed and skill —
But no fans shout hooray.
Sirens wail just miles away,
Dark on the pitcher’s hill
Lies the shade of Freddie Gray.
A miracle catch or play
Won’t give late inning thrill.
No fans to shout hooray.
Respect or shame? We cannot say
But we’ll remember well —
No fans to shout hooray
In the shade of Freddie Gray.
“Sanibel Joe” Pacheco is a retired New York City superintendent living on Sanibel Island, Fla. His poetry has been featured several times on National Public Radio’s Morning Edition, Latino USA and WGCU. He has performed his poetry with David Amram’s jazz quartet at the Bowery Poets Café and Cornelia Street Café in New York City.
In Baltimore today,
Because of instability,
Baseball’s being played
Behind close-door security.
With no fans’ cheers or jeers,
With no waves or foam fingers . . .
It’s a sad baseball first.
In 1857, 16 teams
Were organized in New York.
And nationwide, by ’65,
It was well over a hundred.
History says, even in war
No game’s been played
Without some fan present.
But today Camden Yards is empty–
It’s empty of its soul.
Ticket holders have been told
To stay away
Because of violence in the streets–
And the only way to see the game
Is via cable at home.
I’d rather throw a baseball . . .
Not a rock.
A game without a crowd?
That won’t be very loud.
And should we still feel proud
As a town hides under a shroud?
Despite manicured fields and flags unfurled,
You can’t shut out the world.