Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
Everyone has theories
About why this World Series
Is packed with non-stop offense—
“The baseballs are slick
The pitchers can’t stick
Their nails into their surface.”
We know that these hitters
Don’t get the jitters
And can deal with sophisto defense—
They just loft the ball
Right over the wall
And make all the pitchers nerface.
Now back ‘neath the palm trees they meet
Bats blacked, baseballs scuffed, take your seat
With zombies and witches
And bombs hit off pitches
Will LA get a trick or a treat?
Stupendous long blasts have been struck!
Tremendous big bats run amok!
The game has gone mad!
It’s shameless and bad!
Please end this at last! Dump Joe Buck!
I like the Dodgers.
I like the Astros.
I like the winding,
Treacherous way
Every bit of every game
Goes.
I root for certain earthly aspects
That give a glimpse of heaven:
My love seen through the upstairs windows
And yet another Game Seven.
A homer! I caught it. Look, see?
So many would love to be me!
But, not from a ‘Stro (shit!)
So back I must throw it
to prove I have team loyalty.