Browse all poems and songs in the 'Management' Category


Danks For Nothin’

By Stuart Shea

Don’t mean nothin’ how much he stanks–
Ventura’s gonna keep on using John Danks.
Don’t even matter how much he tanks,
Or  politely mutters “Please” and “Thanks.”

Far be it from me to pull any ranks,
Or attack the clubhouse with guns and shanks,
Or call the sports talk shows pullin’ pranks,
But they’ve gotta have somebody better than Danks.

 



High Heat

by William Tecku

Takes more than hope
to hit any high hard one
with mustard on it.
Dickinson knew that!
Higginson, the player’s first
and last coach said that.
Still, this Hall of Famer, before
blasting “Hope” into the books,
was un-coachable
in one hitting situation.

From the minors, Dickinson,
always dying to homer
in ninth inning tie games,
swung from the shoelaces
at high hard one after high hard one
that blew out of blue afternoons
. . . bright sunlight bearing down
behind each bullet of bleached white, stretched, balled up cowhide balled up and tossed away hard like a lousy first draft page
. . . small as twilight’s first
or dawn’s last star . . .
singular, nondescript as a dove
with rolling red stitches for wings,
a sphere sprinting in spikes of air,
rotating into wide open eyes,
shouting down a thirsty throat,
or avalanching sideways
on top of the batter,
just a pitch, but, in-
that-blink-of-an-eye,
as much a blur as love
or any other heater
only heroes connect with
yet seldom homer.

The fundamental physics
of such thrown objects
make it extremely unlikely
that even the best players
at any level can ever catch up
to these fastballs that pitchers
hurl in some full counts
to sucker batters
into chasing such stuff
blazed shoulder high
or a feather above
the strike zone.

Yeah, when the game is
on the line, and you’re
going for the fences,
hope is hardly enough to swing,
even if you are swinging
Dickinson coffin wood.

 

William Tecku is a Witter Bynner Foundation for Poetry grant recipient, a six-time Arizona English Teachers Association “Teachers As Writers” award winner, a Lake Superior Writers Series award winner, and twice received the Mesa Public Schools Staff Writing Award. It’s Only a Dry Heat is his most recent collection of poetry and fiction. For more of his writing, visit his webpage, Road Reflections.

 



An Ode for Dave Dombrowski

by James Finn Garner

For all the effort
Restoring glory
The October result’s
The entire story

A franchise reborn
Butts in the seats
Traffic downtown
Pennant repeats

Strong arms and bats–
Some for the ages!–
Might end up mere stats
On old dusty pages

Without a ring
You’re as good as dead
When the Pizza King
Shouts, “Off with his head!”

 



Baseball’s Annual Sellout

by Stephen Jones

Some teams are needy;
Others are bailing out.

It’ll be a feeding frenzy, and
Some team may get a tout.

For those teams who are booming
The trade deadline is looming.

 



“Money Ball” MVP

by the Village Elliott

For Josh Donaldson

“Oh by golly, by gosh,
Why’d Beane have to trade Josh?”
Cried fan who’s an A’s East Bay mourner.
“He belongs with our A’s,
Not up north with the Jays,
There playing Toronto’s hot corner!
Now Josh Donaldson’s the
Presumptive MVP
Of the AL, at least he so plays;
While Beane signs bodies warm,
Without legs, hands or arm,
To play the hot corner for the A’s!”

Reckon my friend forgot
Billy owns part of pot,
Kind of like the Cards and Branch Rickey.*
Deal the A’s made with Beane
When the Red Sox seemed keen,
Suggesting Beane, like Rickey, is “tricky”;
Trading deadline is nigh.
Soon fans might say “goodbye”
To both Scott Kazmir and Sonny Gray,
For I doubt Beane forgot
Like Branch, his piece of pot
Is part of what makes Money Ball pay.

PS: Only took half a day
Till Beane traded away
Scott Kazmir, as we all knew he would,
In return, two unknowns
Causing more A’s fans’ groans,
Knowing these guys are gone if they’re good.
___________________________

* When Branch Rickey and Cards,
Owned by Breadon, were pards,
Branch got a cut of each deal he made;
With his farm system flush,
Rickey deemed it a “rush,”
To sell players so he is well paid.
“The Pious Hypocrite”
In his office would sit,
Trade players, not year late, one early;
Rickey never looked back,
Busy counting his stack.
Others thought him impious and surly.

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