by the Village Elliott
For the 2016 World Champion Chicago Cubs
Yo, Chief, start Trib’s presses!
Our Extra expresses
Best headline since “Dewey Has Won!”
Lead with, “Cubs Now the Bride
After Hundred-Year Schneid:
Scapegoat Exorcised with Gonfalon.”
Yes, the Cubs exorcised
Longest World Series schneid
With a young team of great destiny,
But it’s happened before,
“Destined” youths win no more,
Team grows old, earns “Not Quite” legacy.
I read: “Said Connie Mack,
When Al Simmons came back
The year after won first bat title:
‘To be true champion
You must win second one,
Defending your title, that’s vital.’
“‘I believe that I shall,’
Replied Bucket-foot Al,
And, indeed, as bat champ, did repeat . . .”
So what Cubbies must do,
Is win Crown Number Two,
Snatching title from series defeat,
Would be “great champion”
If Cubs win second one
By repeating most poetically:
Since in Theo both trust,
Seems to me Cubbies must
Defeat Red Sox to seal Legacy.
by Stephen Jones
Wha’happened, Red Sox Nation?
Cleveland was more resilient,
That’s what — and even with
A banged-up rotation.
So, no late-inning magic —
No Big Papi and his swinging stick.
In fact, the Boston bats mostly were
A disappearing act.
Funny, how it goes —
how the regular season crescendo
Can go out the postseason window,
When one team’s hot
And the other is not.
by James Finn Garner
Tell me, has it come to this–
To be outhit by Coco Crisp?
To win outright the AL East,
Then be swept out like autumn leaves?
To watch my teammates flailing madly
And our hurlers piching badly?
Then step out for a curtain call
And have all Fenway watch me bawl?
I know I’ve won three rings, but still–
I’m not quite set to give up the thrill.
by Michael X. Ferraro
The cap of Richard Porcello
Casts a dim light on the fellow.
It’s encrusted with gunk
And emits such a funk
Pine tar transforms into Jell-O.
by James Finn Garner
Before the Fall gets underway,
Let us doff our caps and say
Goodbye to those who’ll junk their cleats,
Leave the park and walk the streets.
Super-versatile Angel Chone
Will now be the utility man at home.
Grant Balfour, hothead Aussie,
Can only fume when his wife gets bossy.
Phil Humber’s vaunted perfect game
Was his sole stat worth noting (such a shame).
The Prince has trouble with his neck–
He’ll inspire no more fear on-deck.
Tex and A-Rod will leave the Yanks
And all their fans will mumble thanks,
While Raf Soriano has called an end
To tell war stories, a fine fireman.
But let’s not forget the other guys,
Young tyros once, with starry eyes,
Who gave their all but somehow missed
The general manager’s call-up list.
They’re just as key to the game as any
Adam LaRoche or Brad Penny.
Talent, drive and dreams they bid,
Just like us when we were kids.