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End of Season at the MLB Tavern

by Stephen Jones

I was waiting at the bar for a playoff date
And looked at my watch. It’s getting late.
Then I heard the emphatic bartender,
With his fist pump, mask, and chest protector,
Announce to the lingering, glassy patrons:
“It’s last call. Closing time,” he intones
As he wipes the bar, satisfied with himself,
And begins putting teams on the postseason shelf —
Brands like Atlanta, Los Angeles, Baltimore, Tampa
(and just maybe Seattle, Chicago, or Philadelphia) —
And as he does, he continues to drone:
“It’s hotel-motel time if you can’t go home,
But right now, you can’t stay here —
And hey, better luck when we open next year.”

Pictured is Baseball Bill Holdforth, bartender and rabid DC baseball fan. For the story of how he worked to keep owner Bob Short out of the US Senate, check out this story from washingtonbaseballhistory.com.

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Topple Heavy

by Hilary Barta

Dave Kingman would give it his all
Each powerful swing at the ball
But, missing, he’d spin
And, to his chagrin
Would teeter off balance and fall.

Illustration by Jim Siergey

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Changing the Guard

by James Finn Garner

With apologies to A.A. Milne

They’re changing the guard in th’ American League East,
The Orioles have risen to most from least.
New York and Boston spitting out dirt,
With the Bosox distinctly butt-hurt
Back East.

They’re changing the guard in th’ American League East,
The Orioles have risen to most from least.
The Devil Rays have earned their wild card
But the Blue Jays find hitting terrible hard!
Back East.

They’re changing the guard in th’ American League East,
The Orioles have risen to most from least.
It’s good to see baseball back in Charm City
But we’ll see if the playoffs are nearly as pretty
Back East.

 

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September Baseball (Yankees vs Red Sox)

by Stephen Jones

You know where your team will be, come postseason,
Whether it’s one step above, or in the division cellar:
Your play-by-play guy and your color commentator
Are already talking about next year’s starting rotation.

 

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Cashie Stardust and the Wonder from Mars

By HoraceClarke66

Cashie played us all,
Jivin’ us that we were voodoo.
With our Wonder from Mars
He batted from each side,
Hit it far and wide.
Became the special man,
And we were Jasson’s fans.

Cashie loved to bray,
Tellin’ us that we’d be champs soon,
That the kids were all stars,
Or even from Mars.
He had a secret plan,
And someday he’d tell us, man.

So where was the Martian?
While that jerk tried to break our balls?
Just the beer lights to guide us.
So he brought him to the show,
And blew out his elbow!

Oh, yeah.

Cashie played for time,
Jivin’ us the Yanks were voodoo.
That the kids were for real
And he was the deal.
God, but he was an ass!
He took it all too far,
And thought that he was the star.

Making love with his ego,
Cashie sucked up into his mind (ah!).
Like a leper messiah,
When his deals had killed the team
We had to give up the dream.

Oh, yeah.

Cashie played us all . . .

This parody was originally posted on the indispensible Yankee website, It is High, It is Far, It is . . .caught.