by the Village Elliott
Chris said to the Sox, “Not for Sale!
Throwback unis’ pale hose much too pale!”
Tore them all into shreds.
Did Chris “sail off his meds”
Or contrive to get forwarded mail?
by James Finn Garner
Attend the White Sox uniform
It doesn’t breathe when the weather’s warm
A laughing stock since the day it premiered
Of all throwbacks, by far the most weird . . .
Yes, Chris Sale
The demon tailor of 35th Street.
The collar’s large and the tail’s untucked
Like back in the day when disco sucked
Terrible PJs that no fan should watch
And by the fifth inning it rides up the crotch . . .
That Chris Sale
The demon tailor of 35th Street
Raise your scissors high, Saley!
Don’t stop your tirade!
While you are at it, you can scuttle a trade!
A leader of men with no visible fuse
An atomic bomb whene’er he choose
Keep up your guard, ye White Sox brass
If you turn your back, you’ll get stabbed in the ass . . .
By Chris Sale
The demon tailor of 35th Street!
by Stephen Jones
Right now, A-Rod and right handers don’t mix.
Right now, when he bats, it’s swing, miss . . . nix.
So, he’s chillin’ and sittin’ on the pines,
Girardi looks to players past their prime,
And the fan faithful wonders aloud:
If the team mantra is age before hitting,
Then A-Rod is right: Go with sitting.
by Hilary Barta
Once so hot they could jump in the Lake,
Cubs looked shot as they slumped toward the break.
While Joe Maddon stays placid
We old fans drop antacid
‘Cause we’ve had all the lumps we can take.
By James Finn Garner
On this beautiful summer day in June
The Royals rise and the White Sox swoon
The Astros still dream of their trip to the moon
The Red Sox hope they aren’t peaking too soon
While the Yanks obsess over things picayune
The Rangers and Jays field their share of goons
Tampa ponders a move to Saskatoon. . .
And Epstein’s still the smartest guy in the room.