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The Road Less Traveled

by Randy Frost (as told to 18bit)

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
But I know little about the game
And be one GM, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
Then traded for some broken arms;

I sold the farm, but just as fair,
And since I’m great at 4D chess,
I got some prospects, worse for wear;
And gave them to our training staff
Who never really know or care,

And then I sat back, thinking hard
The sky had started snowing fast.
The season was over, just for us!
Yet knowing how way leads to way,
I thought that I might win next year.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
I bought a has-been hitter, and put
together a rotten farm, but I sleep well
Hal don’t care, that makes all the difference.

This first appeared on the indispensable Yankee website, It Is High, It Is Far, It Is….caught.

 

 

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Intentional Walk

by R. Gerry Fabian

It is a pure sign of respect.

Yet a gamble that must be calculated.
The number of outs;
where the runners are;
is first base open?
Who is up next?
Is his bat hot?
Does he thrive in these situations?

The manager makes the decision
and carries
the consequences
long into the late night.

R. Gerry Fabian is the author of three novels and four books of poetry. His latest book of poems, Ball On The Mound, is a collection of original baseball poems, available at Amazon.

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White Sox Strategic Planning

by GM Chris Getz

If you would have told me
we were going to end up
flirting with the record,

I would have been
a little surprised.

Now if you would have told me
prior to the year
that we would have ended up
with over 100 losses,

105,

110,

I wouldn’t have been
as surprised.

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Hello, Goodbye

by James Finn Garner

Guardian Anthony Gose
Comes and goes
Goes and comes
Up and down I-71

Up to Cleveland
Down to Columbus
Too bad to keep
Too good to dump

Four times in a month
He’s been DFA’d,
Eerily close to Buddy Holly:
“Don’t Fade Away.”

 

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Tommy’s Guarantee

by Tommy Lasorda

I have never, ever,
since I managed,
ever
told a pitcher to throw at anybody,
nor will I ever.

And if I ever did,
I certainly wouldn’t
make him throw
at a
f–king .130 hitter like Lefebvre
or f–king Bevacqua,
who couldn’t hit water
if he fell
out of a f–king boat.

And I guaran-f–king-tee you this:
When I pitched
and I was going to pitch against a team
that had guys on it
like Bevacqua,
I sent a f–king limousine
to get the c–ksucker
to make sure
he was in the motherf–king lineup
because I kicked that c–ksucker’s ass
any day of the week.

He’s a f–king motherf–king big mouth,
I’ll tell you that.