Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
by James Finn Garner
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The girl had “Phillie Fever”,
A massive fall attack.
The only cure required her
To lay down on her back.
To nab a pair of tickets,
What must a clever girl do?
A “Dirty Utley”? “Around the Lidge”?
A “Hamels Camel” or two?
But the cops horned in, and now her pic’s
Been spread across the nation.
Next time, p’raps, she first should try
Some Manuel stimulation.
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Posted 10/29/2009
By Stuart Shea
There was a big game going on in Detroit
To decide the Eastern division champ
But my brother and I were at Comiskey
Where despite the October sunshine
The atmosphere was damp.
I was 24 but even then had an overarching sense
of melancholy.
The last game of a mediocre season?
Perfect fit for me.
The Sox beat the Athletics 5-2.
No big deal; neither team
Was going anywhere but home.
One reason we went is that we knew it would be Reggie Jackson’s last game ever.
So we alternately cheered and booed him.
He got two hits.
When the game ended
Ozzie Guillen threw his glove high in the air
And I hoped that it would never come down.
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Posted 10/21/2009
by Hilary Barta
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The haunt of Octobers of olde,
The field named for Wrigley’s grown cold,
Faint echoes from bats
Of men who wear spats
Who late in the season don’t fold.
This season for Cubbies is toast.
As always, they’re missing the “post”.
There’s curses and theories
Why Cubs won’t host series.
They ought to just give up the ghost.
Each year the Cubs try to remold,
Each year the fan’s hope is fool’s gold,
But millionaire fans
Hatch bankruptcy plans:
The team to a diehard’s been sold.
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Well known as a comic artist, Hilary Barta also runs the terrific site Limerwrecks, featuring limericks on swamp monsters, film noir, comic books, and pop culture. Its daily content is a must-read.
Posted 10/20/2009
by Ember Nickel
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Raise up a roof, the finest of its day.
“No longer,” boast, “shall rain or snow deter
Our baseball games; we’ll always get to play.
Whatever the weather, we won’t defer.”
Raise up your eyebrows and mutter along.
“This thing’s ugly.” “This is a piece of junk.”
“Who built this mess, and where did they go wrong?”
“Did anybody realize that it stunk?”
Raise up your voices, fill the roof with sound.
Don’t worry if, when on the road, they lose.
They’ll come back home and then they’ll come around.
We have home-field advantage, what good news!
Raise up the flags, the pennants proudly won.
No matter if one season we’re the worst.
We’ll rally back, we’ll never say we’re done
Till we raise the second flag, again first.
Raise up a generation till they love
The game, but subtly imply they should hate
The field they see. Whisper “blue sky above
Is what you want–this all is second-rate.”
Raise your shoulders if they ever ask why.
Shrug, write it off, until they do not know
What’s wrong with what they have. “Who needs the sky?”
You’ll hear them wonder. “We can’t see it. So?”
Raise up the record: “Cool things at one site.”
World Series! Super Bowl! The Final Four!
The All-Star game! Oops–college game tonight.
Finish the baseball later. Out the door.
Raise new foundations to the north and west
As triumphant years give way to malaise.
“No, no!” claim. “This new field will be the best!”
Hyping it up with such premature praise.
Then suddenly your suspicions are raised.
They can’t come back. Not this late. Not this far
Down in the standings. But the fans who praised
The team all along still believe. They are
Standing and yelling, raising themselves out
From their seats. And now the team too will rise.
The final weeks are what it’s all about,
The final push until you reach the prize.
Raise up your hopes. Lose game one-sixty-three.
But keep the hopes high. You’ll get them next year,
Rallying back at the last. Can it be?
Most of our hopes already beyond here
We win nevertheless, for we still care.
You thought you’d given up–this was your proof.
You’re not jaded. You’ll cheer when the field’s there.
That’s all you need to know. Raze now the roof.
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For more of Ember’s marvelous writing, check out her blog, Lipogram! Scorecard!
Posted 10/19/2009
by Stephen Jones
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You had your chance
But blew it – at home
The arrogance of bats
Not yours but swinging
Against you &
Your own play proof
A winter to compose
To refurbish to retool
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Posted 10/14/2009