Browse all poems and songs in the 'Food' Category


MLB All-Thanksgiving Team

by Jim Siergey, Hilary Barta and James Finn Garner

1B Stuffy McInnis
2B Damian Rolls
SS Joe Bean
3B Spud Johnson

OF Lawrence Plenty
OF Turkey Stearnes
OF Cranbarry Bonds

C    Yam Yaryan

RHP Paul Stuffel, Tom Butters
LHP Bob Sprout, Beany Jacobson

Mgr. Pie Traynor

 



– finis –

by Millie Bovich

The Astros and the Dodgers were the Hatfields and McCoys,
And they battled on for seven games, those wild and scrappy boys.

And as the dust is settling with the Astros waiting rings,
The crowd erupts with cheering and the “you know” lady sings.

Now the well-worn mitts are on the shelf, the champagne warm and flat,
And “Astros Champs” emblazoned is on every this and that.

The bats are finally all in racks, the balls are all in bags,
The uniforms are cleaned and pressed, their player names on tags.

The scoreboard shows no numbers, the stats are all in books,
The vendors too have closed up shop, their aprons hang from hooks.

The managers are calm once more, the cleaned-up shoes in rows.
The game’s America’s pastime, that fact no one can oppose.

The towels are all washed and dried, the showers only drip,
The bat boys are all back in school, the umpires hear no lip.

The season’s been exciting, we’ve been taken to new heights
And will the last one out of the locker room, please — turn off — the lights!

 



Invasion of the Astro Monsters

by Hilary Barta

Now back ‘neath the palm trees they meet
Bats blacked, baseballs scuffed, take your seat
With zombies and witches
And bombs hit off pitches
Will LA get a trick or a treat?

 



Classroom (at a Bar)

by Stephen Jones

Question of relativity:
Which came first —
The player or the ball?

Question of old history:
When did the strike zone
Become a judgement call?

(Note: Question #1 was tabled,
As a “discussion” was started
about the merits of juice …
And Question #2 was stumbled
Over by be-spectacled
Umpires, and after boos.)

 



Roger Angell Needs His Sleep!

by James Finn Garner

Loitering near history’s portals,
The aces proved to be mere mortals
And all the vaunted firemen
Sprinkled gas again and again.
No margin safe, no lead secure.
“Mighty Bregman”? Why not, sure!
Houston’s muggy, the balls are juiced
Hitters snort antler of moose.

Whate’er excuse, my answer remains:
Baseball is the greatest game.

 

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Copyright 2007 Bardball.