Browse all poems and songs in the 'Boston Red Sox' Category


All-Star Clerihews, Part II

Aaron Judge
Wants to leave a ball-shaped smudge
On the bleacher seats
Of every ballpark he meets.

Jose Altuve
Is feeling real groovy
Slulrping down shaved ice
And driving around like “Miami Vice”.

Chris Sale
Drinks a pail
Of prune juice before each start–
That face is him holding in every fart.

Zack Cozart
Isn’t much for art.
He thinks that big thing by Red Grooms
Indicates use of ‘shrooms.

 



Ongoing Failure

By jessicaj

Baseball is a game of failure
I hear people say this daily
Last Friday
I was talking to a guy
About the road to the Final Four
He wants more ESPN
More college hoops
More NHL, NFL, and MLS
At first I’m nodding along
Then I started envisioning
An invisible painting
Hanging before me
A blend of 90% fescue
With freshly raked dirt
Demarcating the infield
Suddenly my mouth waters
I can taste popcorn salt
Smell yeasty beer
Hear drunks arguing
While another batter
Gets punched out
Meanwhile I’m thinking
This isn’t productive
I’m just sitting there
Growing older
Having spent my money
On a long drive and
Expensive parking
But for a few hours
I’ve been transported
Transformed, I’ve escaped
My burdens at work and home
Have accumulated
The ballpark is grimy
Even the new ones
Are gray slabs of concrete
Baseball is a business
Chewing up players
Sucking them dry
A capitalist enterprise
Time is so precious
Why would I waste it
Contemplating the futility
Of a rainy day at the ballpark
When I could be
Getting ahead in life?
But I have a secret:
I know why
The caged batter
Swings

 



Don Zimmer

by Hilary Barta

An ardent and ballsy debater,
At arguing calls none was greater
His jowls had a fit
As he howled and he spit
A gnarly and balding old tater.

 



Idle Thought

by Stephen Jones

When the smoke finally clears,
sometime later this year…

The American League East
will be a black ‘n blue beast:

No team a clear winner…
but one a survivor.

Alley fights and turf wars–
they’re waged just that way.

 



The Happening

by Laura Weck

I’d been scoffed and laughed at
Nearly all of my life.
Sox fans screamed in my ear:
“TWO THOUSAND AND FIVE!”

“Just relax,” folks would tell me,
“Ya know it’s just a game:
The pleasure is in watching.
The winning is only fame.”

So every year I always watched.
I laughed and boy I cried,
Religiously taking vitamins
Just in case I’d die.

I vicariously watched the Red Sox
And kept close eye on the score.
So happy was I when they took it all
Back in 2004.

Would I ever experience this pure joy,
When on the north side bells would chime?
Could a World Series ever happen here,
Preferably in my lifetime?

Throngs of people now sport Cub gear,
No longer do I feel alone
After the brilliant harvest
Theo had so thoughtfully sown.

I wonder did it really happen
It still feels a bit like a dream
I take pride in telling White Sox fans:
“TWO THOUSAND AND SIXTEEN!”

 

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Extra Innings

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Heavy Hitters

Copyright 2007 Bardball.