Southpaws on Parade

by Todd Herges

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Quick trips up are saved,

or so it is said,

for lefties who hit with good pow’r;

the finest of gems

scouts try hard to mine 

are sinister live-armed hurlers.

 

Oh-nine is the year

these truths can be seen

on both of the teams still alive.

 

For while Pujols is great

and Vlad’s bat can’t wait

they stand in the box close to third;

while Lincecum’s crazed

and Beckett is made

They’re now taking showers at home.

 

The teams that are left

are those who chose best,

hitched wagons to maladroit men.

 

Howard, Hideki,

Damon and Utley,

on demand can take the ball yard;

Cliff Lee and C.C.,

Cole Hamels, Andy,

quite clearly show that they’ve got game.

 

So now we are left

to watch quite impressed

A southpaw-filled Classic on Fox.

 

(The lefthanders playing in the World Series this year are:  pitchers Phil Coke, Damaso Marte, Andy Pettitte, CC Sabbathia, Antonio Bastardo, Scott Eyre, Cole Hamels, A.J. Happ, and Cliff Lee; hitters Robinson Cano, Johnny Damon, Brett Gardner, Eric Hinske, Hideki Matsui, Paul Bako, Greg Dobbs; Ryan Howard, Chase Utley, Raul Ibanez, Matt Stairs; plus switch hitters Melky Cabrera, Nick Swisher, Mark Teixeira, Jorge Posada, Jimmy Rollins and Shane Victorino.  Twenty-six men. Over half of the two combined rosters.  Juuust a bit outside the “normal” distribution of lefties among the general public.)

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Posted 11/2/2009

Yankees, 2009 Immortals

By Kevin Hennessy

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When the Twins face the Yankees,
Mere mortals we don’t just see:
Gods as great as those of Greeks
Stand upon tall mountain peaks.

A-Rod, king of playoff clutch,
Jeter, dare we stray too much?
Mark T., we should four-ball pass,
Jorge? He isn’t out of gas.

Then the bullpen, dare we see?
Lights out when we think of thee!
Mariano, four outs, one two three!
(Four, with a single scattered in betwee’)

Gardenhire says, “We don’t play with our wallets,”
But 0-10 don’t sit well on our palates.
Sobbing into our homer hankies,
We bow to and worship the dreaded Yankees.

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Posted 10/15/2009

A Poem for Carl Pavano

by Hart Seely

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He’ll break out in some rare disease,
That turns his arm to cottage cheese,
A fungus will infect his rod,
If there’s indeed a Yankee God.

He’ll give up six runs in the first,
And go from being bad to worst,
He’ll feel the heat of our Jihad,
If there’s indeed a Yankee God.

And if there is no Man upstairs,
No one to hear our heartfelt prayers,
He still shall face a long hard slide,
If there’s one ounce of Yankee pride.

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For more of Hart’s tasteful insights into the national pastime, visit It Is High, It Is Far, It Is…caught.

Posted 10/9/2009

A Baseball Poem #5

by Stephen Jones

Chilly tonight
Sky gray-mottled already

But baseball explodes
Despite the chill despite the gray

The Yankees make history
And drop to no one

I have dreamed this . . .
Pie face pie face

And money money Yes
. . . But a team is born

It may be chill it may be gray
But not arrrogant

In October pinstripes look good

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Posted 10/1/2009