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Derek Jeter and the Iron Horse

by Hart Seely

Derek Jeter took his bat
And flailed as if to a kill a rat.
He didn’t get a hit, of course,
And thus still trailed the Iron Horse.

Derek Jeter, what a bum!
Three measily hits would never come.
We really need a solid force,
But he still trailed the Iron Horse.

Derek Jeter, swinging late.
One brutal day: and 0 for eight.
And yet we state, withour remorse,
That he is now our Iron Horse.

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Posted 9/10/2009

Hart Seely is the author of  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.

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Poem for October

by Hart Seely

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Teixiera is a god to me,
He needs to be the MVP.
But if he wins no Series ring,
He won’t have won a goddamm thing.

This could be Jeter’s finest year,
Best season in his great career.
But if he gains no Series ring,
It will not mean a goddamm thing.

I still recall Scott Brosius’ clout,
To save us from our final out.
But we then took no Series ring.
It did not mean a goddamm thing.

We’ve shut down Papi, J.D. Drew,
Defeated Lester, Beckett, too,
But if there is no Series ring,
Those wins weren’t worth a goddamm thing.

So hear now, loudly, autumn’s call,
Which beckons to us, every fall:
“IF YOU DON’T WIN THAT SERIES RING,
“DON’T BOTHER COMING BACK NEXT SPRING!”

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Posted 9/3/2009

Hart Seely is the author of  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.

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A-Rod Haiku

by Anthony Salazar

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Pay-Rod left our town
To seek fame and great fortune
Pity his poor choices

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Published 8/27/09

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Rivalry

by January O’Neil

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I came to the party late,
long after Babe was sold to the Yanks
past the magic of Ted Williams and Yaz
and Buckner’s ball through the legs.
Didn’t understand The Curse
but the years without a championship
added up like runners on base
and no one to bring them home.
Generations of Red Sox fans
passed away without a World Series win.
The velocity of our hatred
was unmatched, and we liked it that way.
In 2003, we were Dirt Dogs.
A tribe. A nation. Even the anticipation
of spring training became a torture so real
it bordered on beautiful,
how beauty is supposed to reach us,
with a temporary luster,
with nothing to show for it
but our longing.
If you’re a member of this Nation
you’re full of hunger and angst,
there’s nothing you can do
to ease the silence. Win
or go home is the only option.
We watch no matter what,
learning to live with loss,
that soft hurt that never goes away.

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Posted 8/19/2009

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No Matter How Good

by Stu Shea

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No matter how good
Or no matter how much,
We all know that know A-Rod can’t hit in the clutch.

Ignore how he’s gotten
The Yanks out of dutch.
The guys say that A-Rod can’t hit in the clutch.

They’ll wave their statistics
And say such and such,
But we know that A-Rod can’t hit in the clutch.

The radio told us,
And they’ve got the touch.
That’s how we know he can’t hit in the clutch.

All those smart guys can go back
And hide in their hutch.
‘Cause I say that A-Rod can’t hit in the clutch.

Obama is Kenyan!
Health care’s a crutch!
And I know that A-Rod can’t hit in the clutch!

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Stu’s new book, Pink Floyd FAQ, containing everything you’ve ever wanted to know about Pink Floyd, is out now.  Buy it in bookstores or on the web.  Do it.  Now.

Posted 8/10/2009