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


American League East 2014 Spring Training Haiku

By Stuart Shea

BLUE JAYS
Like other Canucks,
Jays fly south to Florida
But must return soon.

ORIOLES
“Is his knee healed up?”
What about the pitching? The–
“Is his knee healed up?”

RAYS
Wil Myers lead off?
Wil he be a new Joe D?
Wil success spoil him?

RED SOX
A bee swarm hovers,
Scaring off the ballplayers.
Nature owns nature.

YANKEES
The old men dream on,
Echoes of glory cascade
In crisp March sunshine.

 



Grandy in the Wind

by John M.

Goodbye, Grandyman…
Though I never knew you at all
You had the grace to swing away
While those around you walked
They crawled out of the woodwork
And they whispered into your brain
They set you on the homer porch
And they made you change your game

And it seems to me you swung your bat
Like blowing out a candle in the wind
Never knowing what to swing at
When the pitch came in
And I would have liked to have known you
But I was just a fan
Your average burned out long before
You became an also-ran

 

This post first appeared in the comments at It Is High, It Is Far, It is … Caught.  



From a Central Division Fan Who Hadn’t Been Paying Much Attention

by James Finn Garner

What th’ — BOSTON won the East?
Soaring up to best from least?
The experts’ toe tags read “Deceased”
But New York’s competitiveness ceased,
Baltimore’s upward path was greased.
Bet big on the Jays? You’re fleeced.
Of seafood the Carmines made a feast,
Muzzling that Tampa beast.
My faith is shaken — oh, call a priest!
I can’t believe they won the East!

 



Just Hold on til Mo

By James Finn Garner

After one of the most memorable exits in baseball history last night, today belongs to Mariano Rivera. As a salute, here’s a reprint of a poem from the nail-biting 2009 post-season. So long, Sandman.

When your son asks you advice on mascara,
When your head’s a-flame and your mouth’s a Sahara,
When that small, still voice inside prattles like Berra–
I’ve got two words:
Mariano Rivera.

When you’re uprooted and force-marched to some terra
Incognita, a dark, doomed hell where a perky Sarah
Palin is president and not just a chimera–
I’ve got two words:
Mariano Rivera.

When you yearn for escape and consider hara-
Kiri–Breathe deep, relax, don a fresh guayabera,
And watch the greatest hero since Before the Common Era–
He’ll bless you and keep you:
Mariano Rivera.

 



Mariano Rivera Day, the End of Summer in the Bronx – September 22, 2013

by Stephen Jones

Yesterday, the Yankees lost their last sliver
Of summer sunlight by a score of 2-1.
Maybe too their bruised chance to play
As a wild card this October post-season.

In fan memory, it’s a far cry from ‘95 –
When the Core Four first arrived with
Posada, Pettite, Jeter, Rivera.  Back then,
Yankee baseball seemed to last forever.

So it’s hard to draw fair comparison:
The present team limped but played hard all season.
Yesterday it came up short amid shadow
And waning sunlight, of the first day of autumn.

Mariano Rivera said it best after the game was over:
“How it finished wasn’t what I was looking for.”

 

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