Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
By James Finn Garner
NEWS ITEM: Bobby Cox was ejected from Tuesday’s game by umpire Ted Barrett. This was Cox’ 132nd ejection, breaking the all-time record previously held by John McGraw.
Bobby Cox, did you feel rejection
When you broke McGraw’s mark for ejections?
Noble Brave, please don’t pout,
‘cuz getting thrown out
Endears you to our cheering section.
by James Finn Garner
To the Holy Land arid and brown
Comes a pastime of bases and balls,
Where a slugger might smack one downtown,
As the summertime slows to a crawl.
From Modi’in to Petach, they field nine
On a diamond so green near the sand,
While a host of young players will shine
With the shade of Hank Greenberg at hand.
Just one problem: whene’er a young moose
With sharp eye takes four balls, hanging tough,
He won’t take his base, claiming, “We Jews
“Have been walking since Moses! Enough!”
Posted 8/7/07
Goose Gossage,
Goose Gossage,
You are your own Bossage,
You have your own mitt that you sign and Embossage.
Goose Gossage,
Goose Gossage,
You always will Flossage,
Your round rolling stone will ne’er gather no Mossage.
Goose Gossage,
Goose Gossage,
You boot up with DOSsage,
You always predict the results of coin Tossage.
Goose Gossage,
Goose Gossage,
Your car drives with Nossage,
And you play like you dance, like the winged Bob Fossage.
(Sandy’s site, with his comedy teammates: Schadenfreude.net)
Posted 8/3/07
by Tim McClure
100 will soon be here,
‘08 to ‘08 we do fear,
A ‘45 goat or ‘69 cat,
Durham’s glove or a fan’s catch,
Bone the curse, don’t wait for next year!
Some say with a goat we were cursed,
Some say it’s an error at first,
Black cats with the Mets,
Or Bartman’s bad catch–
I fear the Cubs are the worst.
The series I wish they could win,
For naught now it seems like a sin,
They’ve tried for so long,
It’s the same old song,
Who’ll ever see it, my kin?
They’ve won! I can’t believe it!
In the ninth with a home run hit!
We’ve waited so long,
The field is a throng,
I just woke up… Oh S**t!
The Red Sox did it four years ago,
The White Sox were next in line to glow,
We thought we were next,
Our muscles were flexed,
But our Cubs missed their turn in the show.
There’s a dream that’s been dreamt for awhile,
That we’d smoke the Cardinals with style.
We’d tromp ’em real good,
Like we know we should.
This Cub’s dream isn’t wicked nor vile.
There was an old team called the Cubs,
Who for years have looked just like subs.
They’ve tried to get better,
But have seemed in fetters,
‘Cause the curse has left all those flubs.
Posted 7/30/07
Last call for alcohol
Last call for your nation at bat
It was that last great league in Irish Town where he never forgets
The crack of the bat feels like the spit of his fame just blowin’ in the breeze
Like the crumbled skeleton staring at the door with its head between its knees
Old skeleton knows where it’s going, night after night after night
To wash its hands of curses, sins of the past 80 years, look in the mirror and cry
For it’s the soul of the league that’s on trial
No longer can a skeleton smile, just shake, like those pep pills and drugs and business that now sweeps it under the rug, while the GAT of the thug is shoved into the back of the big boss who pushes aside the integrity of the game for payoffs and thrills
The record is broken, the record is cast
The crowd doesn’t say much when the dark shadow is cast into stone or the graveyard in the hall
He cast the first shadow, so he did fall
The crowd remains silent
The crowd still remains
Old skeleton washes up in a sea of notoriety
Like the spit of his fame.
Posted 7/19/07