Roy White, you did all right.
Jim Ray Hart, you played your part.
Willie Mays, those were the days!
Matty Alou, is it really true?

Duke Sims, you climbed on limbs.
Sparky Lyle, you made us smile.
Horace Clarke, you jumped the shark.
Matty Alou, we must bid adieu?

Harvey Kuenn, you made the scene.
Juan Marichal, you gave ‘em hell.
Steve Blass, let’s raise a glass!
Matty Alou, we’ll remember you.

Hart Seely’s new book, The Juju Rules: Or How to Win Ballgames From Your Couch, will be published by Houghton Mifflin in time for Opening Day 2012.  You can pre-order it from Amazon at this link.

How would you like to run the O’s?
Round and neat
A team with such potential
Nearly ready to compete
You can earn a pretty penny
With it like so:
O! O! O!

Would you like to run the O’s?
Feathered and so fleet
Ready to contend in the
Wide-open AL East

It’ll cost you just your job

Ernie: My job?

The Salesman: SHHHHHH!

Ernie: (whispering) My job?

The Salesman: Riiiiiiiight!
So take the job and watch the O’s take flight.

Now listen. When you run the O’s, you won’t be alone. All your decisions as GM will have to pass muster with a bunch of front-office yes men that Peter Angelos refuses to fire. That is, when he’s not meddling directly himself.
And if you get a name past them, he’ll still have to be approved by Buck Showalter in the dugout, who’s as stable as a three-legged dog most of the time.
So you can have a high-profile job with lots of pressure and no power, in the toughest division in baseball, for the most incompetent owner in the game. So tell me….

Would you like to run the O’s?
Take over for Andy McPhail
He couldn’t stand the heat
Now he’s got time to golf and sail

It’ll cost you just your job

Ernie: My job?

The Salesman: SHHHHHH!

Ernie:  My job?

The Salesman: Riiiiiiiight!

So run the O’s and change them overnight.
Did we mention our “proud heritage”?
Just run the O’s and change them overnight.
Don’t forget the crab cakes.
So run the O’s and change them overnight.

Franchise disarray
Post-season fingers pointing
Rumor mill working

Franchise scrambling
Truth . . . Boston fog obscuring
Who did what . . . or not?

A manager leaves
Pitchers eat chicken drink beer
Ownership denies

What to remember?
Two championships . . . or collapse?
Or “What’s next at bat”?

There once was a Prince from Milwankee
Whose wife gave him no hanky panky
.     I’ll be ready, she said,
.     To take you to bed
When you swing your big bat as a Yankee

Jonathan Eig is the author of Luckiest Man: The Life and Death of Lou Gehrig, Opening Day: The Story of Jackie Robinson’s First Season,  and Get Capone, all now out in paperback.

Was it the last dance?
The last dance for John and Suzy’s broadcast love
No, no, their last chance?
To get us to a big dance Thurs night
We need them beside us
Beside us, to guide us
Their boldness, that unfolds us
‘Cause when they’re sad
We’re so, so sad

So let’s not dance the last dance
No, no last dance
No, no last dance Thurs night

Was it the last dance?
The last dance for John and Suzy’s broadcast love
No, no their last chance?
To get us to the big dance Thurs night
We need them beside us
Beside us, to guide us
Their boldness, that unfolds us
‘Cause when they’re glad
We’re so, so glad

So let’s not dance the last dance
No, no last dance
No, no last dance thurs night

You can find more of David’s work throughout the Yankee blog, It Is High, It Is Far, It Is…..caught.

The Tigers broke out of the zoo
And pummeled the team “You know who”
.    With our hitters on tap
.    And our pitchers with zap
They out-Yankee-ed the Yankees, Yahoo!

A contributor from Bardball’s rookie year, Millie Bovich has been a devoted fan of the Detroit Tigers for  eight decades.

All the network media dorks
Sing the praises of New York

They hate visiting places strange
Like Motown and the Texas Range

They’d rather crawl through Gotham sewers
Than watch the Snakes or Rays or Brewers.

They’re happy as a dog with bone
To stay in th’ Eastern Time Zone.

But Yankees pitching ain’t worth a lick.
The Phillies are my pick, in six.

They were losing so nobody spoke
No schmoozing, no boasting, no joke
.    From the bench not a mention
.    Just a clenching from tension
No boos heard in Boston, just “Choke!”

The Cardinals are blanking the Astros again,
And they’ll make the playoffs if the Braves can’t win.
I wish I was there for this wild-card craze,
But I’m stuck in Seattle covering the A’s.

Hey! Tampa came back from a 7-0 hole,
Dan Johnson just tied it–right off the foul pole!
I’d love to be seeing the Yankees and Rays,
But I’m stuck in Seattle covering the A’s.

Did Baltimore really just walk off the Sox?
And Papelbon pull one more of his rocks?
So Tampa and St. Lou are in. I’m amazed
That I’m stuck in Seattle covering the A’s.

It’s cold in this pressbox at Safeco Field,
And watching a meaningless game is the yield.
The action is elsewhere, and it’s one of those days.
I’m stuck in Seattle covering the A’s.

Inexplicable meltdown
In Boston leaves are falling
No Autumn splendor

Instead play-off hopes
Free-falling without a net
And time running out