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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

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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

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Sportswriter William Blake on the Yankees–Red Sox Game of 8/26

By Hart Seely

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold the playoffs in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

A bullpen fill’d with doves and pigeons
Gives up runs thru’ all its regions.
A boat sunk at its master’s buoy
Predicts the ruin of our Matsui.

Each outgrowth of Giambi hair
A fibre from the brain does tear.
With Joba wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.

The A-Rod clipt and arm’d for fight
Hopes pitcher hurls from left, not right.
Every Pudge and Damon howl
Sends to hell a redsock soul.

The bat that flits at close of eve
Has kill’t the fans that won’t believe.
The team that calls upon tonight
Shall send the loser home in fright.

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 9/8/08.

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Buy More Bonds

by James Finn Garner

Barry Bonds, Barry Bonds,
Won’t someone please buy Barry Bonds?

The burly man-child at 44
Surely can give something more.

While the Rangers could use his mighty bat,
Texas must have a big enough hat.

In Minnesota he could deliver the goods,
And spend days off prowling the woods.

In New York, the powerful media glare
Would show if there’s any personality there.

Washington would enjoy spinning turnstiles,
And be handy for the start of his perjury trial.

It’s time to move to make the playoffs this year.
Come on! He can give SOMEONE a shot in the rear!

Posted 8/18/08 

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A Prayer for the Yankees

by Hart Seely

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord Phil Hughes to keep.

If Wang should die before I wake,
I pray no Cleveland trade we make,

If Boston hears that siren cry,
I pray they land that C.C. guy,

And when they sign him there to stay,
I pray his elbow starts to fray.

But when teams call, O, hear me, Lord,
I pray Montero stays onboard.

And though it’s true we must improve,
I pray that Melky doesn’t move.

And though his outings were not long,
I pray that Ian comes back strong.

I pray no deals we make this night.
Except Igawa… that’s all right.

Posted 7/2/08Â