Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
They’re getting pumped in Motown
For the torrid Wild Card race!
If they rack up division wins,
They’ll surge up to second place
Enough to struggle in October
By God’s and Minnesota’s grace,
And clear the stench of summer
Unless they fall on their whiskered face.
THE TRUIST PARK ATLANTA BRAVES SONG #MLB #ATL #GA #LETSGOBUCS pic.twitter.com/D2ZYkAFGDa
— saxboy (@saxboybilly18) July 24, 2024
Bill Stiteler has become a viral hit in Pittsburgh and beyond with his hilarious videos. Follow him on Twitter at @saxboybilly18.Â
All the OG sluggers the Old Fans watched play at Candlestick Park–
Miracle Mays, Mighty McCovey, Cyclone Cepeda, Uppercut Evans, Angry Jack Clark, King Kong Kingman, Redneck Jeff Kent, Mayhem Matt Williams,
and the Millennial Enigma himself—Titanic Barry Bonds!
But all those star shots launched into the infamous Candlestick jet stream
pale in comparison to the atomic arm displayed by visiting Pirate Roberto Clemente in 1968.
Old Fan still visualizes that cold, windy summer night,
watching Clemente dashing for, scooping up the bouncing baseball,
Negotiating the warning track deep in right-center field.
Clemente as whirling dervish spinning,
Athletic possession,
hardwired into baseball poetry,
like a Rumi poem divinely inspired.
Clemente’s arm now dispossessed from the body,
Superpower unleashed,
Following through like an Olympian hammer thrower.
Then the baseball rose into the fluorescent lights,
Gaining altitude,
Higher than a wicked drive by McCovey,
Now level with the disbelieving eyes of Old Fan in the upper deck behind home plate.
Who needs a cut-off man?
Not Clemente.
The majestic arc,
Seemingly suspended in the ethos,
slowly descended,
as the lumbering Giant runner rounded third base.
Into the waiting big paws of the Pirate catcher,
Who stood nonchalantly on top of home plate,
Clemente’s mighty heave softly fell.
The dead duck Giant runner?
He just stopped,
Staring in disbelief,
As the laughing catcher tagged him out.
So wax poetic about Clemente’s throws,
All you talking heads on the radio,
Who wish you saw him play.
Well, that foggy night at Candlestick,
During the summer of love in iconic San Francisco–
It ain’t on the internet.
That throw was visceral, not virtual–
You had to be there,
Amid the blowing hot dog wrappers and wafting cannabis smoke.
We were there, and you weren’t—
Old fans, real eyes,
Witnessing the Great Clemente live.
Ron Halvorson is a freelance writer and lifelong San Francisco Giants fan who went to his first game at windy Candlestick Park in the early 1960s.
Sung to the tune of “Matchmaker, Matchmaker”
Cashman, oh Cashman
We know Hal is rich…
Find us at last,
Someone to pitch.
Game after game
In late innings it’s blown.
So find us a clo-ser,
… of our own.
For AA…
Make him like Sparky!
For Hoss,
Wetteland’s fastball would be nice.
For me, well, I wouldn’t holler …
A Rivera-like cutter so they swing thrice!
Cashman, oh Cashman
Please go through your book
Because it is time
To give Holmes the hook.
Night after night
We cough up the lead
While you dumpster dive
… out of greed.
CASHMAN:
Fellas, I’ve found him!
Have I got a guy for you
He had thirty saves…
In 1992.
Still, he’s got good stuff. Good stuff.
So nu? He’s due.
His peripherals are amazing
All ground outs. No loft!
We’ll use him once and then…
His arm falls off.
CASHMAN:
Fellas, you’ll love this…
This closer’s been here before.
He sweats like a pig
But he throws 104.
They go straight as an arrow.
His pitches come in true.
They hit them just as fast…
So we’ll turn two!
CASHMAN:
This next one has a temper.
A clubhouse chair he’ll fight…
But only when he’s sober
So we’re alright…
Cashman, oh Cashman
You suck at your job.
Your salary, and our souls you rob.
Do us a favor and quit the team soon…
You can’t make a trade.
Can’t sign a guy.
Can’t draft at all.
Can’t win a ring!
…and take with you Aaron Boone.
This appeared first in the indispensable Yankee blog, It Is High, It Is Far, It Is ….caught.
Originally appeared in The Chicago Baseball Magazine.