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


If Tex is Really Back

by Hart Seely

If only we can beat the Mets,
If Boston loses Mookie Betts,
If A-Rod somehow hits a bunch,
And Carlos Beltran earns his lunch…
Our team could finish in the black,
Not wither at the warning track.
We’d actually have a bold attack…
If Tex is really back.

If C.C. salves the wounds of time,
If Didi turns out worth a dime,
If Headley brings a few clutch blasts,
And Masahiro’s elbow lasts…
Then we can add another plaque,
And dance like Strahan with a sack,
No cleanup slugger will we lack…
If Tex is really back.

Ah, but dreams! they’re known to drift,
Like fielders in an over-shift,
And spring’s a time to see rebirth,
But fall is when teams rule the earth.
Let’s savor every vict’ry snack,
And cheer his every home run whack,
We’ll all be high, like smoking crack…
If Tex is really back.

 

Hart Seely is the author of The Juju Rules and helms the indispensable Yankee blog, It is High, It is Far, It is  . . . Caught.



Sgt. Pepper’s 2015 Forecast: “When I’m .204″

by James Finn Garner

For the Yankees:

When I get older, losing my speed,
Not so long from now,
Will you still be batting me at DH,
Late-game left field, riding the bench?
When the Yanks are down 17 to 3,
Count on me to score.
Will you still play me,
Will you still pay me,
When I’m .204?

Every contract season there’s a vet’ran on the trading block that could fill a need
. . . CC, Gardner, A-Rod, Beltran . . .
Then in March he wrecks his knees,
Hank, is this your plan?

Farm system looks like a north Texas ranch
In 1933.
By August we’ll be chasing after Tampa Bay
All our prospects traded away.
Reflexes wane and muscles are sore
“On deck: Dumbledore!”
Will you still play me,
Will you still pay me,
When I’m .204?

 



American League East 2015 Spring Training Haiku

By Stuart Shea

Orioles
Hitless in 20…
Not a great way to come back
Is it, Matt Wieters?

Red Sox
New acquisition
For Boston’s Zoo—a panda.
He won’t go hungry.

Yankees
First spring in many
With a wide-open spot where
A legend once trod.

Rays
All the big names gone
And one eye is looking north
Thinking of Quebec.

Blue Jays
It’s hard to know, man…
Can they win without Stroman?
Does Haiku need rhyme?

 



To Arms! To Arms!

by Stephen Jones

It is, so far, a winter to remember.
Our dreams in the Northeast
Are huddled in a Valley Forge.
Our ballparks have been seized,
Taken by the “white coats” of snow

But in places to the south,
With names like St. Lucie and St. Pete,
The “Sons of Liberty” are unlimbering
They are pitching and catching;
They are heeding the call:

To arms! To arms!

Pitchers and catchers — to arms!

 



Baseball Record

by Steven D. Johnson

Five hundred eleven – the wins of Cy
near three sixty-seven – the bat of Ty
But in baseball heaven, just blink an eye . . .
.    and records will be broken.

Just look at Babe Ruth – seven hundred fourteen
.    To tell you the truth, his home runs were seen
.        to hold a record not passed – thirty-nine years, ‘til alas
Hank Aaron’s bat was woken.

Yet there is a record that will ever stand,
.    but it’s not Ted Williams, and it’s not Stan the Man
.        don’t look to Tris Speaker, don’t bank on Pete Rose
.           for this baseball record every ballplayer knows
.    belongs, yes it does, to another.

It’s not for stolen bases – though Oakland’s a believer
.    nor is it held by aces – like Gibson, Ford or Seaver
No, the sole baseball mark that will hold in every park
.    belongs to father, son, and brother.

The record that won’t break, held through highs and heartache,
is going seven-for-seven, every baseball season week
.    since 1911 – now that is quite a feat!
It’s keeping baseball alive since 1925.
It’s zero games missed since 1886.
It’s giving ballplayers a reason
.    to thrive in baseball season.

Yes, the only baseball record
.    that will maintain its stand
.        belongs to the beloved,
.            committed baseball fans!

 

AL East

NL East

Extra Innings

AL Central

NL Central

Poems by Type

AL West

NL West

Heavy Hitters

Copyright 2007 Bardball.