All the network media dorks
Sing the praises of New York

They hate visiting places strange
Like Motown and the Texas Range

They’d rather crawl through Gotham sewers
Than watch the Snakes or Rays or Brewers.

They’re happy as a dog with bone
To stay in th’ Eastern Time Zone.

But Yankees pitching ain’t worth a lick.
The Phillies are my pick, in six.

The Cardinals are blanking the Astros again,
And they’ll make the playoffs if the Braves can’t win.
I wish I was there for this wild-card craze,
But I’m stuck in Seattle covering the A’s.

Hey! Tampa came back from a 7-0 hole,
Dan Johnson just tied it–right off the foul pole!
I’d love to be seeing the Yankees and Rays,
But I’m stuck in Seattle covering the A’s.

Did Baltimore really just walk off the Sox?
And Papelbon pull one more of his rocks?
So Tampa and St. Lou are in. I’m amazed
That I’m stuck in Seattle covering the A’s.

It’s cold in this pressbox at Safeco Field,
And watching a meaningless game is the yield.
The action is elsewhere, and it’s one of those days.
I’m stuck in Seattle covering the A’s.

Paul
Hit a ball
Out for his fifth straight day. No Sox
Bat has got six straight days of park-vacating knocks.

Mitch
Also hit a ball out, which
Put things such that his squad won.
No outs–not a pitch (bar 10 and a half prior innings’ worth)–prior to winning run.

Zack
Didn’t lack
For Ks,
Notching 10 against Rays.

Ryan Howard
Is not a coward.
His hit wound up a big inning
So his squad wound up winning.

Brian
Had to start pitching, as Placido and Ryan
Both got hit by a pitch
On back-to-back plays, that inning. At that point, you must switch.

Carl Pavano
Had to go mano-a-mano
With his opposing moundsman. Carl didn’t notch a hit
But as his squad had 8 in as many at-bats, was cool with it.

Justin Smoak
Was part of a ninth-inning croak.
His squad was up by four
But couldn’t shut Washington’s door.

Ember Nickel blogs at Lipogram! Scorecard!

Fans in New England (the Red Sox Nation)
Are masochists in anticipation.

Yankee fans are clever guys
Two strikes on batter, they all rise
Sophisticated crowd.  Who knew
All of them could count to two?

The Cubby fans are loud and jivey,
Or are they rooting for the ivy?

It’s Baseball Night in Canada, eh?
Do the Blue Jays fight or do they play?

Texas loves the Texas Rangers
To the rest of us they’re total strangers.

Mets fans shout it:
Fuhgeddaboudit!

Good players are what their diamond lacks
But their fans still cheer the Diamondbacks.

The team is shaky in Seattle
The players may but the fans don’t rattle.

Florida fans all like to laze
Watch the game, take in the Rays.

Some fans will cheer and that’s
All we have for the Washington Nats.

Philadelphia’s fandom
Cheers or boos—it’s random.

What Ho!
Ben Zo!
Two doubles…and a single…and a three-run blow!

Eight ribs?
No fibs!
Against a bunch of pitchers no one will ever know!

We cannot know his legendary head,
We cannot know his riddle-speak, his swing,
His heart that greets no consequence, no dread.

Oblivious (or publicly misread),
He went forth like a jester, like a king.
We cannot know his legendary head.

Ramirez never anguished, never bled.
Perfection seemed a right and simple thing.
His heart? It greets no consequence, no dread.

A paradox: collective joy and dread
Awash in pride and drunk on estrogen–
We cannot know his legendary head.

A selfish man and insecure, they said.
But maybe public shame can even sting
A heart that greets no consequence, no dread.

And maybe all the jokes had turned to lead,
The time had come to leave the center ring.
We’ll never know his legendary head,
His heart that greets no consequence, no dread.

Eric writes the terrific blog Pitchers & Poets. One of his posts from P&P appears in the 2010 edition of Best American Sports Writing.

BALTIMORE ORIOLES
Talented groundhogs
Trying to burrow through a
two-layer brick wall.

BOSTON RED SOX
Deep at every spot.
Not young at any of them,
Must win now or else.

NEW YORK YANKEES
E. Chavez is “back”!
Well, that’s a strange way to say
That he feels “healthy.”

TAMPA BAY RAYS
Damon? Ramirez?
It all depends what kind of
leadership you want.

TORONTO BLUE JAYS
Latinos can get
Good job opportunities
North of the border.

The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Yankee nine that night:
The score stood two to one, and with no rallies left in sight.
When Colin Curtis lined to first, out-foxed by pitcher Shields,
A sickly silence vexed the Bomber fans o’er Tampa’s fields.

The New York bats had wilted in a deep despair. The race
Had found them in a losing funk, a-mired in second place.
They thought, if only Jeter could unto the plate bestride,
They’d put up even money he could take one in the side.

Then from 5,000 Tampa throats there rose a lusty foam;
It rumbled ‘cross the plastic turf, it nearly popped the dome;
It rocked the mighty harbor ships returning from the sea,
With their bows a-colored rusty with dispersant from BP.

There was ease in Jeter’s manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Jeter’s bearing and a smile on Jeter’s face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly made a scene,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt he hoped to work a bean.

Ten thousand eyes were on him, as the scoreboard bellowed loud;
Five thousand tongues applauded; (down in Tampa, that’s a crowd.)
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
It seemed the Yankee captain might just take one in the lip.

And then the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Jeter stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped-
“IT HIT ME, OWWWW!” cried Jeter. “TAKE FIRST!” the umpire said.

Now from the former Devil Rays, there rose a mighty roar,
Like the warble from John Sterling aft a walk-off Yankee score.
“Kill him! Kill the umpire!” boomed Joe Maddon from his stand;
And the umpire said, “Yer out a’ here!” while Jeter rubbed his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Jeter’s visage shone;
He jogged to first a-smiling; he bade the game go on;
He rubbed his wrist and watched the scoreboard replay through his hat
Which proved the ball had merely struck the handle of his bat.

Oh, somewhere in this fevered land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere kids still dream;
But they’re still pissed off in Tampa: Jeter faked one for the team.

Hart Seely is the major domo of the Yankees blog, It is High, It is Far, It is….Caught.

O, God, thy glories doth amaze,
Thy sunlight fills our autumn days,
We gain upon Thy Tampa Rays,
We thank Thee for thine Oakland A’s.

They represent Thy kingly ways,
And smite the ball to double plays,
More holy than Toronto Jays,
God speed thy team… O, Oakland A’s!

And so, to Thee, we offer praise,
For harvesting these wondrous lays,
No Variteks, no Jason Bays,
Return again… O, Oakland A’s.

Hart Seely runs the indispensable Yankee blog, It is High, It is Far, It is … Caught.

Posted 9/6/10

Carl Crawford, Tampa Ray,
Hit for power, raised the bar,
Stole the bases, then one day,
Took a lead one step too far.

Carl Crawford, playing hard,
His whole career, one great move up,
Flashing leather! Going yard!
And never tethered by a cup.

Carl Crawford,Tampa’s prince,
Three time all-star, no one’s fool.
Made this planet watch and wince.
A man with nuts, ground into gruel.

Carl Crawford, baseball great,
Stealing bases, climbing walls!
But when he steps up to the plate,
Here is the count: One strike, no balls.

Hart Seely runs the Yankee blog, It is High, It is Far, It is….Caught, and never fails to laugh at a good nad shot.

Posted 7/25/10