Late autumn brings damp and rain;
The baseball season is over again.
The Redbirds were soaring;
Their fans were roaring.
And Texas went home empty-handed.

The holidays and new year’s come,
Bringing dreams of series rings to everyone.
The hot stoves start burning,
With free agent yearning,
And revulse at the salaries commanded.

Spring brings tulips and green grass.
Training and opening day are here at last.
Northern fans bundle for the game,
Southern weather is a lot more tame.
And all hope to catch a foul single-handed.

The late Samuel Henry Donham (a college and semi-pro first baseman whose career ended in injury, and later a junior high baseball coach) instilled a love of baseball in his family, including his daughter-in-law Becky. She is a longtime Cubs fan whose faith is wavering.

Was that Tony La Russa after all?
The glasses look right. I don’t know the eyes.
Was that a slider? Changeup? Or curveball?
Perhaps this would be a good place for wise

Commentators to…maybe…commentate.
They keep silent, cutaway to the same
Fan–wedding ring, hair dyed, breath quick to bate–
That they have been showing throughout the game.

Give me the details that I could not hear;
The red glove, the necklace striped blue and white.
We all are fans and we can all guess fear,
We know what is at stake on such a night.

And beyond night, I’ll try myself to share
The game with others–it’s morning out there.

Ember Nickel makes sport with the English language on her blog, Lipogram! Scorecard!

The Rangers lay their popguns down
Nolan Ryan sports a frown
The Cardinals new life have found
When Mr. Freese comes to town

The Texas bullpen crashes down
Nelson Cruz fields like a clown
The seat of Mark Lowe’s pants turns brown
When Mr. Freese comes to town

Bud Selig puts away the crown
Ol’ Dallas? One more cowtown
We all get a Game 7 showdown
When Mr. Freese comes to town

The ‘birds were turned back by Napoli
And their hitting missed the scenery
Ron’s dances and Punto’s charming wrongs
But wait a minute, something’s wrong…

Hey, Tony, Tony Italiano!
Hey, Tony, Tony Italiano!
No, no, no; no World Series win for you, you Sicialiano

Like Zeus with his shattering bolts
LaRussa’s best batter packs volts
.     Like a powerful god
.     from his towering bod
flows the juice to the bat of Puholz

I’m sure you all know by now that Hilary posts his limericks on monster movies, noir thrillers and comic books every day at LimerWrecks, but I thought I’d remind you all the same.

The third was both end and beginning,
It determined the losing and winning
.     For the Tigers, the plane
.     To the Rangers, champagne
All it took was one Texas-sized inning.

Tonight, if the weather stays dry,
the Tigers will give it a try
.     In duct tape they’re bandaged,
.     yet somehow they’ve managed
to fight to game 6, do or die.

Beltre thought it a routine DP,
As simple as, well, 6 – 4 – 3,
.     But third base interrupted
.     And the Tigers erupted
And are still fighting for the ALC

Driven Hard, Still Eats Up The Road

Son, take a look at this year’s Verlander,
This model’s sure worth a gander.
.     With the mileage he’s racked up
.     He still hasn’t cracked up
And his aim down the road never wanders.

No raining; no pouring.
In Motown they’re roaring.
.    The Tigers saw red
.    and knocked ‘em dead,
They’re returning to Texas this morning.

The defense of Texas was tight
From the catcher, and later from right
.     From third to the plate
.     was a distance too great
and Cabrera was out like a light

Man of the Eleventh Hour

Jim Leland put Beltre on first
Of the options that proved to be worst
.     The dreamed double-play
.     was singled away
And by Nelson, Detroit was submersed