by Stuart Shea
The Marlins hired a ‘suit’
To skipper their club–
And he’s as bright as a summer tanager.
But when his time runs out,
The angry fans will shout,
“Fire the Middle Manager!”
By Stuart Shea
The team wasn’t good
Before Lucroy went down.
Then they fired the skipper
In hopes of a rebound.
But it’s all in vain,
It’s rebuild time again,
Let’s burn the whole thing to the ground.
Trade Garza, Segura,
Ramirez, and Lind,
And think about Braun,
If a deal’s in the wind.
But just don’t deal Scooter,
There ain’t no one cuter,
And as far as we know, he ain’t sinned.
by R.J. Lesch
Here’s Bryan Price, his Reds down on their luck.
With injuries his players have been hit.
As manager, he sure would like to duck
His duties as a spokesman, and to sit
upon the news of who could play, and tuck
away the players who could not. But it
is not an option nowadays. No truck
is had with silence on such things. To wit,
reporters and their readers want to pluck
from every minute’s stream the latest bit
of news. And if it hurts the team? Tough. Suck
it up. And Reds’ opponents benefit.
I guess he thinks he’d had enough with schmucks.
And so Price vents, and Rosecrans “tsks” and clucks.
by Paul Kocak
From the late-night Belt
To the Ishikawa blast
(Leaving Matheny aghast)
From the Reverend Pence
Splat against the wall
To the champagne dance
We are LOLing
We might be Giants
A three-ring cirque du soleil
With a dollop of brouillard
(That’s French for “fog”)
We go yard; we play hard
Cue Tony Bennett
We’ve got Brandons galore
(Crawford, Hicks and Belt)
(And even a Dan — aaargh — Uggla)
An Angel-ic Pagán
And Morse Code tapping SOS and more!
Glove wizards Perez and Blanco
White Shark speeding, sailing, soaring
We are Champions
Hashtag World Series
Even years we adore
We are Giants
By Bums we are hated
Eight titles, calculated
Add them, elated
Call them banners or flags
Call them rings
Making our heartstrings sing
It is the dawning
Of the Age of J. Arias
And LOOGY Lopez too
Lincecum and Cain and Machi
Adrianza, Susac and Sanchez, true
Don’t forget Romo of Sergio
Or long-man Petit
Nor Affeldt, rock-steady Jeremy
Or Duffy speeding homeward
And Posey, our Buster,
Batterymate anchor, aweigh
Awaiting The Hug
We are guitar-pickin’, smart-pitchin’ Peavy
Gutsy Gutierrez, strong Vogelsong
Stoic saver Casilla
Cagey Hudson navigating age with grace
Madison Bumgarner, ace of aces
Starter, saver, savior
Backed by The Flip
Panik to Crawford
Saving Game 7
Striking icons of history
Hoisting trophy and treasure
Bochy the maestro
Baer and Sabean
Flannery, Kelly, Meulens
Righetti and Ron
And all the rest
Named and unnamed
We are Giants
Panda falling backward into eternity
Parading into paradise
Paul Kocak is the author of Baseball’s Starry Night: Reliving Major League Baseball’s 2011 Wild Card Night of Shock and Awe, which Doris Kearns Goodwin called “a magical book about a magical night.” He followed this with World Serious: One San Francisco Giants Fan’s 2012 Pilgrimage. He is completing a memoir on his life as a Giants fan.
by James Finn Garner
For the benefit of Mister I
The Tiges will give another try
At a Series ring
In the race four times before
Then they’re always shown the door
Damn, it stings
. But with Cabrera and two Martinez
. The hits should still be raining in Motown
. If God wills, Alex Avila doesn’t get hurt
Yeah, Max Scherzer hit the road
The Nationals can bear that load
(He will be missed)
David Price might have the stuff
But does the bullpen have enough?
Let’s check the list:
. Phil Coke is gone, and Rick Porcello,
. Which leaves Soria, Albuquerque and Nathan
. Climbing higher? Dumpster fire? Who the hell knows?
Castellanos will be there
We’ll marvel at Cespedes’ flair
In center field
Ian Kinsler leaps and spins
Let’s hope Iglesias’ pins
Have really healed
. Twisting the government ’round his fingers
. Is not enough for Detroit’s pizza king
. Which is why Mister I keeps spending his dough….