Browse all poems and songs in the 'Management' Category


Roadtrip

by Stephen Jones

The summer’s done, the season’s done,
And you’ve been on a very long journey.
The rising road no longer winds so much, and
On both sides, the once-lush fields are empty.
Autumn flickers like a golden fish.
You drive between here and tomorrow.

.                                                  And

It’s no surprise, that you pass roadside stands
Selling end-of-season distractions.
You see peach baskets full of analytics
(For wintering over, like last year’s apples),
Crates clearly marked Hustle and Muscle,
(But with dates that have now expired),
Stacks — like cords of wood — of guaranteed
Live arms (these also root-cellar bound),
Boxes and boxes of spins and grips, and
Canning jars of freshly made good stuff.

.                                                  And

Up ahead, on the road’s gravel shoulder,
Just before the winter turn,
Fired managers hold out their thumbs.

.                                                  Meanwhile,

A dusty red pickup honks, then passes you.
It’s full of young talent, like day workers, and
Heads back to the farm.

 



Over-Managers Wanted

by Raphael Badagliacca

Seeking applicants
Who are mystical
About everything statistical.
Ability to count
A major prerequisite.
So is inability
To just patiently sit.
At critical moments
Must promise not to look
At the guy on the mound.
Go instead by the book.
Need a quick hook.

 



Walk Off

No doubt the Cubs pen is undermanned
A slight kink in Theo’s master plan
We all have heard the “Spahn-Sain-rain” trope
Now it’s “Edwards, Strop and give up hope”

So Maddon chose to call up Lack
(Keeping Davis in deep freeze?)
Bad choice, too late to take it back
Turner crushes it to Los Feliz

Walk off
Walk off
Walk off
Walk off…

 



The Wreck of the Boston Red Sox

by HoraceClark66

The legend lives on
From the Bambino on down
Of the team that folds like a patsy
The Fens, it said,
Always throws up its dead
When the winds of November come early

The Sox were the pride
Of the MLB side
With a team that was certain to win it
A roster so sweet
That they let the boys cheat
And said scarcely a word ag’in it

They had Sale on the mound
And Price who would pound
Any old man who dared to offend him
And Porcello who
You knew would come through
And too many others to mention

The outfield was young
Their praises were sung
Above all the Babe Benintendi
They did a cute dance
And around they would prance
When the team it won so bigly

They were handed the East
Which was the least
MLB could do for their story
Then they’d run through the ‘Stros
And the bows and arrows
And go straight to the Series and glory

But Nuni’s knee gave
Then their main Sale caved
And the Olde Towne Team was hurtin’
Then Pomeranz fell
And Kimbrel went to hell
And another big choke, it was lurkin’

Does any man know
Where the love of God goes
When the hits turn the innings to hours?



Dusty in the Wind

by James Finn Garner

What does the future hold for dear Dusty
Now that the lure of gold has gone bust-y?
With the Nats getting beat
He might land on the street
Like mold, his reputation now musty.

 

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Copyright 2007 Bardball.