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.
by Hart Seely
We will moon him from the bleachers.
We will moon him from the stands.
He will think our butts strange creatures
From some weird exotic lands.
We will moon him from the boxes,
Where the richest are assigned.
Full autumnal equinoxes,
Fifty-thousand grand behinds.
We will moon him from the upper decks,
Way up there in the sky,
He’ll see fifty-thousand hammy specks,
Each moonbeam shouting, “Bye!”
We’ll moon Big Papi all the night,
Show all our nooks and crannies.
Into his brain we’ll burn the sight
Of fifty thousand fannies.
We will moon him in the lower tiers,
Where cheeks doth shine quite proudly,
We’ll moon him as we sip our beers,
And often, farting loudly.
We will go down in the hist’ry book,
Our tickets will be keepsakes!
We’ll never know a greater look
Than fifty-thousand beefcakes.
We’ll moon him at that certain time,
When Papi waves, “Goodbye now.”
No cop shall charge us with a crime,
He’ll merely wink an eyebrow.
We’ll moon him for posterity!
To show the world what’s right,
Though some will cry, “Vulgarity!”
They’ll know we won the night.
O, it shall be one glorious scene!
A gathering of the masses!
No greater use shall e’er have been,
For fifty-thousand asses.
For more on the drive to moon David Ortiz in his final appearance at Yankee Stadium tonight, go to Hart’s website, It is High, It is Far, It is . . . caught.
More information on this historic event is also at MoonBigPapi.com.
by Stephen Jones
Yankee fans always like to boast;
Instead, they got Pinstripe toast.
Time to give up chance’s ghost?
After Boston, it’s an almost.
by Stephen Jones
Hey, don’t count them out —
The Yankees just clout
Toronto’s first-place Blue Jays.
It’s the first time this season
They swept the opposition,
And next up, it’s the Devil Rays.
Yeah, there’s not much time left —
And it’s a hard nut to crack —
But reality’s something you check
Outside the stadium gate.
by Doug Fahrendorff
Only the first name necessary
Japan’s hitting master
3000 hits at age 42
As talented in the field
As at bat
Paved the way
For other Japanese position players
What he’d have done
Had he reached the Major leagues
Few would argue
Ichiro is a truly singular talent
And should be a cinch Hall of Famer