Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
When I was a boy,
I would go to the Dome,
The Dome that the people called King
To watch my M’s play
And undoubtedly lose,
But in the 7th, at least we could sing.
Eventually the roof
With its rain-soaked tiles
Began to fall to the ground
In little lawsuit-friendly piles,
So the men with the dynamite
Were called to the site
And the Dome was extinguished
With a BOOM in the night.
7/3/07
O give us a home
Where no buffalo roam
Under tarp by the baggie we play,
Where echos are heard
While Punto’s at third,
And at first hear JM say, “Eh.”
Dome, Dome for the deranged,
Why ever play baseball outside?
Fly balls disappear,
and hit speakers we fear.
Those carpet burns sure hurt when you slide.
Published 6/14/07
By Doug White
There once was a pitcher named Snell
Who didn’t throw particularly well.
When he hung a curve too high,
David Ross let it fly,
Then the hurler gave the poor ballpark hell.