Browse all poems and songs in the 'New York Yankees' Category


Bob Dylan’s 2017 Forecast: “With God on Cards’ Side”

By the Village Elliott

Oh, my game, it is baseball.
My home team’s the best,
The team that I root for,
Once league’s furthest west;
I’s taught and brought up where
Redbird fans reside,
Learn the St. Louis Cardinals
Have God on our side.

Learned the game from my father,
Local fan till last day.
Taught me, “Watch your team play, son,
Play the game the right way.”
Watched, rooted, and studied,
Played with own inner pride,
Like I learned as a Cards’ fan
With God on our side.

Have own Hall of Fame Roster
Bat with Redbirds on chest
Diz and Gibby hurled high heat
“Stan the Man’s” still our best
Slats, Pepper, Brock, Cha Cha
Curt Flood’s on-/off-field pride.
My team’s greats played the game right
With God on their side.

I attended first series,
Damn Yanks, ’64.
Teams split the first six games,
Each must win one game more.
Sat with Dad in the bleachers,
Where Mick’s last tater flied.
Final out celebrated
With God on our side.

Beat Damn Yanks for first title.
Old Pete was the gent,
Soon Lou and Babe payback,
In four games Cards are spent.
Split next two, early ’40s,
Wounded Damn Yankees’ pride,
Then they start counting dead boys
With God on their side.

After Second World War, boys,
BoSox dream Cards upend.
Later “Lonborg’s Champagne”
Drink “Impossible’s” end,
But post-Y2K,
Big Papi’s, Sox pride
Twice repay the Redbirds
With God on their side.

Oh, the record book tells it,
It tells it so well:



Jonathan Holder, the Holder of Holds

by Hart Seely

Behold “Hold’em” Holder, the Holder of holds.
His heaters hate hitters, their bats catching colds.
His outings eat innings, as each hold unfolds,
Behold “Hold’em” Holder! the Holder of holds!

Just call “Hold’em” Holder; the lead will be held.
Our enemies vanquished, their loss clearly smelled,
This Holder will hold them, their hopes to be quelled,
Behold “Hold’em” Holder! Our vict’ry upheld!

Behold “Hold’em” Holder; he holds, does not save,
Each new hold unfolding, each game to its grave,
A high-holding holder, their bats shall behave!
Behold “Hold’em” Holder! Our lead shall not cave!

 



Goodbye Cruel World; It’s Opening Day

by Hart Seely

The gods place bets with loaded dice,
And all our earthly dreams betray,
But listen to one clown’s advice,
Goodbye, cruel world; it’s opening day.

The politicians scrounge for power,
With consequences we shall pay.
But somewhere, it’s our finest hour,
Goodbye, cruel world; it’s opening day.

Our weary age is full of war,
The daily news brings dark dismay,
So surf the dreams worth living for,
Goodbye, cruel world; it’s opening day.

 



Bob Dylan’s 2017 Forecast: “My Come Back Pages”

by James Finn Garner

Pinstripe flameouts through the years
As the vet’rans cashed their checks
Overtime for financiers
Signing A-Rod, CC, Tex
While the promise of the farm hands dimmed
Strapped behind a plow
But we were so much older then
We’re younger than that now

It seems like years since Jeet was here
Young and full of soul
Then money sunk in contracts dear
Dictated players’ roles
Simultaneously at Wilkes-Barre
Prospects stood by, like cows
But we were so much older then
We’re younger than that now

Will they give Gleyber time to grow?
Frazier and Sheffield too?
The Yankees’ patience will wear out
Just like it always do
By June the brass will call them up
Panicking, dropping trou
But we were so much older then
We’re younger than that now

 

 



Autumn’s New Retirees

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.

 

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