by Jim Siergey
A million Dad Ricketts gave Trump-kins
He must think the faithful are bumpkins
With timing that stinks
it’s a crime that might jinx
the Cubbies to turn into pumpkins.
Copyright HiJiJi Productions.
All rights reserved and all wrongs righted.
By Millie Bovich
Here’s a message for baseball’s commish.
Just read this ’cause that is my wish:
Interleague play’s a loss
Are you listening, boss?
Tiger baseball’s my favorite dish.
Let’s make it the way that it was
Just the All-Stars and Series because
We’ll know who’s the best
Let each league pass the test
For the cheers, or the jeers, or guffaws!
by Hilary Barta
Take me out to the ballgame
(at Mega Predatory Capitalism Corp Park)
Take me out to the crowd
(taking selfies, texting their “friends” and checking email)
Buy me some peanuts and crackerjack
(How much? They’re PEANUTS!)
I don’t care if I never get back
(Actually, I do have to work in the morning)
For it’s root, root, root for the home team
(full of spoiled, right-wing millionaires)
If they don’t win, it’s a shame
(There’s always next year)
So it’s one, two, three strikes you’re out at the old ball game!
(now new and “improved” with replay challenges)
By Stu Shea
You may think you’ve traded me,
For some prospect at Pulaski,
But call my agent–he knows laws.
I have myself a no-trade clause!
I will not go to this new town,
I will not go by air or ground!
You should have asked before you dealt,
Before you tried to swap my pelt,
If I would play for Greeber City,
by the Village Elliott
Billy Beane’s yearly trade deadline sale
Causes A’s fans once more to go pale.
Fans know once they adjust,
And new A’s earn their trust,
Players’re traded next year without fail.