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Chicago, Chicago, That Toddlin’ Town

By David Bellel

Chicago, Chicago, that toddlin’ town
Those Chisox, those Chisox, they play like they’re clowns
Bet your bottom dollar even AJ could have won in Chicago, Chicago,
The town where poor Adam Dunn got shut down

On West 35th Street, that great street, I just want to say
They do things they don’t do on Broadway
Ozzie had the time, the worst time of his life
His bats went dead, unlike his hot-looking wife
In Chicago, Chicago, Joe Girardi’s home town

Chicago, Chicago, that toddlin’ town
Chicago, Chicago the Yanks will toss them around – we love it
Bet your bottom dollar Hughes will lose his blues in Chicago, Chicago,
The town where for six innings even he shut them down

On West 35th Street, that great street, I just want to say
They do things they don’t do on Broadway
Ozzie had the time, the worst time of his life
His bats went dead, unlike his hot-looking wife
In Chicago, Chicago, Chicago, Joe Girardi’s home town

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A Whimper, Not a Bang

by Hilary Barta

The Cubs and the Sox have done battle
The fans cheered their ‘siders like cattle
.     But the final at bat
.     Felt tiny and flat,
As A.J. gave up the death rattle

Of course you know, Hilary Barta is a world-class illustrator and pens limericks every day over at LimerWrecks, right?  C’mon, get your head out of the sand.

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Bradbury-ed in the Standings

by Jim Siergey

From Ozzie, this buzz—
“If my ‘firemen’
give up one more iffy run,
I’ll know it’s because
they’ve been reading
Farenheit 451.”

.

 

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Dunn and Dunn-er

by James Finn Garner

Adam Dunn can’t hit his weight.
In the AL, the DH job
Don’t get done at .168.
A hit man working for the mob
Posting such an average
would end up in a trunk, well plugged.
By even elfin Lillibridge
Is this day-old pot roast outslugged.
With warmer weather, heaven willing,
The Sox’ll wield more potent lumber.
Adam, a tip from TV’s Tom Skilling:
In Chicago, it’s already summer.

Though Alex Rios is glad to see
A “slugger” choking worse than he.

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Ozzie-Mandius

by “larry”

I met a traveler from a twinkie land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in U.S. Cellular Field. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
`My name is Kenny Williams, GM of GMs:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

This was originally published on the SBNation blog, South Side Sox.