Browse all poems and songs in the 'Chicago Cubs' Category


The Curse of the Billy Goat

by Mark Vincent

R. I. P.  Billy Goat Curse, 10/06/1945 – 11/02/2016

It started in Game Four of ’45
When Murphy, Billy’s goat, came to the game.
The Cubbies led the series, were alive,
About to claim some World Series fame.

The goat smelled bad and he was asked to leave.
His owner, Billy, wasn’t very happy.
He cursed the team; they lost. Chicago grieved.
The decades since, well, they’ve just been crappy.

But that, my friends, is finally in the past,
That blasted curse has now been laid to rest.
The pennant, then the Series won at last.
The Cubs can now stand proud, they are the best!

In seven games, and then an extra inning,
Chicago’s Cubs have found a new beginning!

 



Clinch Mob

by Hilary Barta

As the regular season is waning
Cubs players it seems are complaining
Irrelevant chatter
About games that don’t matter
Being managed as if it’s spring training.

 



SuperPAC-O-Lantern

by Jim Siergey

A million Dad Ricketts gave Trump-kins
He must think the faithful are bumpkins
With timing that stinks
it’s a crime that might jinx
the Cubbies to turn into pumpkins.

 

Copyright HiJiJi Productions.
All rights reserved and all wrongs righted.



See Cy Young

by Hilary Barta

Kyle Hendricks, no ace all a-glitter,
Ain’t trending on Facebook or Twitter,
So isn’t it strange
This wiz with the change
Contends for a late fall no-hitter?

 



Aroldis Chapman Miles Per Hour

by Hilary Barta

You just swung through his one-oh-two.
The ball’s a pea at one-oh-three.
But don’t ignore his one-oh-four:
You won’t survive the one-oh-five.

 

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