Wilson Betemit, Never Ever Get a Hit
by Hart Seely
First base Wilson Betemit
Never ever-ever gonna get a hit.
Pitcher never even have to sweat a bit.
Not with Wilson Betemit.
Second base Wilson Betemit.
Squats like old man take a shit.
Swings like girl with a fake-a-tit.
No good Wilson Betemit.
Shortstop Wilson Betemit.
Called strike three he throw a fit.
On the bench he should-a-sit.
Be gone Wilson Betemit.
Third base Wilson Betemit.
Plays like do not give a whit.
Someday soon he ought-a-quit.
Sick of Wilson Betemit.
Hart Seely is the author of the hilarious Mother Goose Goes to Washington, as well as Oh Holy Cow: The Selected Verse of Phil Rizzuto, newly released in a 15th-anniversary edition. He often hangs around the Yankee website, It is High, It is Far, It is….caught, offering tasteful and constructive comments to management and players alike.
Posted 9/29/08
Only In New York
by Sid Yiddish
My hair grows gray upon hearing the news that they’ll soon be closing Shea.
Not that it seems fair, but the graying of my hair comes on the heels, that
The House That Ruth Built is giving way to a brand new stadium, just because team owners weren’t happy enough with what they had before.
Out with the old, in with the new.
The cost tremendous, but guess who pays it?
Why it’s me & you!
Yes, it’s us, the ordinary fans, we always get stuck with the bill, but as they say in New York, time marches on.
Still, I’ll bet you 10 to 1, that’s not what Moose or Seaver would have said.
For more on Sid Yiddish’s poetry, music and performances, check out his My Space page.
Posted 9/25/08
There Was A House
by Hart Seely
There was a House that Ruth Built
Beloved throughout the town.
It didn’t please the millionaires,
And so they tore it down.
It didn’t have a steak house.
No discos could be found.
The catered boxes were too few,
And so they tore it down.
They wailed about necessity,
Each face portrayed a frown,
But ticket prices were too low,
And so they tore it down.
They cried about tradition.
Great anguish, all around.
But money calls the shots these days,
And so they tore it down.
They’ll tell you how the clubhouse stank,
From sewers underground.
They never thought of fixing things.
They simply tore it down.
Oh, somewhere, fans still celebrate,
Great ballparks of renown.
There’ll be no joy in Mudville.
They went and tore it down.
Posted 9/22/08
