Browse all poems and songs in the 'Food' Category


But Woe is Three!

by Hilary Barta

Golden leaves on October winds blow
And relievers don’t know how to throw
Can Kyle Hendricks complete?
Will they send in red meat?
How I grieve for the bullpen of woe.

 



Stiff Upper Drip

By Hilary Barta

Will the Cubs or the Nationals sizzle?
Who advances, and which team will fizzle?
Whose fans will stay sober
Or curse this October?
They will both play Game Five in a drizzle.

 



Twas the Night Before Game One

by Michael Norton

Twas the night before Game One, of the N-L-D-S,
Every Cubs fan thought, “Repeat” of last year’s success.
The banners were hung by the scoreboard with care,
In hopes that more banners soon would be there.

The players were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Cleveland still danced in their heads.
Some thought of Rossy – his famous last hit.
Guys like Zobrist and Monty – they sure never quit.

This season felt different, almost never looked easy.
After two months some fans went from joyful to queasy.
The losses piled up, they got harder to swallow,
Six losses out west caused some more fans to wallow.

“The magic is lost!” some said mad in July.
“They’re not the same team!” others started to cry.
When what to their wondering eyes should appear,
But a team that was winning – again they could cheer!

With a few little trades, and a few lessons learned,
We knew in a moment, the tides would be turned.
More rapid the fastballs, our pitchers they threw,
And the bats came alive for our boys in the blue.

When Russell was hurt, Javy made every play.
Joe had Rizzo bat lead-off, got some pinch hits from Jay!
Schwarber was back! Heyward’s swing self-corrected,
Each guy played with heart – even Bryant, ejected!

They hit balls up the middle, then shots in the gap,
Got some help from the young kids, Almora and Happ,
There were homers galore, as they danced in the pen,
And Wade Davis would save games again and again.

“What slow start?” they asked, as the Cubs kept on winning.
They were scoring in virtually every inning.
From six games in back of the leaders they rose,
And they never gave up – well, you know how it goes.

When out on the field there were curses they shattered,
This team kept its sights on the one thing that mattered.
It might have been rough, for some listeners and viewers,
But they quickly disposed of the Cardinals and Brewers.

Washington’s next – a familiar foe,
Sure they may have ol’ Dusty, but we have Saint Joe.
They’ve got Murphy and Scherzer, a guy who’s named Bryce,
But Bryzzo and Co. are not here to play nice.

So give them the edge, hail their pitchers and batters,
But remember the one thing that actually matters:
We’re the Cubs – we can pitch, and our batters can score,
And we know we can win … ‘cause we’ve done it before.

It’s been almost a year since that night at Progressive,
That thrilling Game 7 – every play more impressive.
And while some players left, and some new faces came,
The passion and drive of this team is the same.

They continue to grind, and they make it look fun,
They have grit, they have guts, they won’t stop til they’ve won.
And we’re lucky they’re ours, they sure put on a show,
Because like us, we know that they love “Go Cubs Go!”

Now, Hendricks! Now, Edwards! Quintana and Jake!
On Lester! Montgomery! Our pitchers who rake!
To the bleachers at Wrigley! To the depths of Nats Park!
Let’s get ready to party, ‘round Addison and Clark!

And let’s show the folks up near Capitol Hill
That the Cubs got more heart, and more strength, and more skill.
With their “W” hats on the Nats, we shall stomp!
“W” stands for WIN, now let’s go drain the swamp!

 

Michael Norton is a law student and sports writer for ScoreCardSports.com, where this poem first appeared. Follow him at @mnorton9 and @ScoreCardSports.



Say Goodbye to These Retirees

by James Finn Garner

As the leaves turn from green to brown
And we rekindle antipathy for Joe Buck
Let’s recall players whose careers are done
And their stories of drive and hope and luck.

Jered Weaver, strikeout ace,
Can now just putter around his place.

Atlanta’s Frenchy, Jeff Francouer
Will now as a TV color man tour.

SF fans can thank Matt Cain
For embiggening the Jints again.

Likewise, Ryan Vogelsong
Can practice bird calls all day long.

Joe Nathan will have to find his thrill
Somewhere other than the bullpen hill.

And Nick Swisher, quintessential bro,
Will just leave a trail of grit where’er he goes.

To these and all other retirees
Thank you for the thrilling years.
Now, with us, relax near the TV,
Watch some playoff ball and enjoy some beers.

 



The Love Song of J. Alfred Bleacherbum

By Bill Savage and James Finn Garner

Let us go then, you and I,
Where Wrigley’s spread out against the sky
Like the Cardinals etherized down the standings;
Let us go, through half-constructed streets,
Muttering about our seats
Of restless day and night games and new hotels
And vanished sawdust taverns that never served an oyster:
Streets that flow with tedious arguments
Of where to spend your cents
To bleed you to an overwhelming debt–
Oh, do not ask, “How much is it?”
Let us go, stand in line and make our visit…

In barrooms, fans come and go
Talking of Maddon, Jed ‘n’ Theo.

 

Bill Savage is an associate professor and adviser for the Weinberg College of Arts and Sciences at Northwestern University. Follow him on Twitter at @RogersParkMan, where this poem first appeared. 

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