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Get Me to Citifield on Time!

by David Bellel

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A salute to Ike Davis, one of the ball-playing members of the tribe.

I’m getting called up in the morning!
Ding dong!  The shofars are gonna blow real fine
Pull out the stopper!
Let’s have a (kosher) whopper!
But get me to Citifield on time!

I gotta be there in the mornin’
Spruced up with my cup aligned
Yids, come and bless me;
Bring choice salamis
But get me to Citifield on time!

If I want to hora,  roll up the floor.
If I am dovening,  close down my torah!

For I’m getting called up in the morning!
Ding dong!  The shofars are gonna blow real fine
Wrap up my blintzes.
But don’t lose the Tzimmes
But get me to Citifield,

Get me to Citifield,

For Moses’ sake, get me to Citifield on time!

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You can follow David on his blog, Pseudo-Intellectualism.

Posted 4/28/2010

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South Side Fireworks, Inside

by James Finn Garner

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On Opening Day at the Cell,
Amidst the ravening horde,
The men’s room witnessed a tryst ‘twixt
A South Side lady and lord.

All the prudes and official blue-noses
Who by this action were floored
Should think of the White Sox’s condition
And be grateful that somebody scored.

Posted 4/26/10

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The Crucifixion of Alfonso Soriano

By Stuart Shea

A-bopping and a-hopping in the outfield,
Stopping if a ball clanks off his glove,
Soriano just wants to play baseball,
Do his best with energy and love.

A-snorting and a-courting fan dissension,
Writers like to use their words like knives.
Every player’s error becomes legion.
Can’t sportswriters get some f*$(@* lives?

posted 4/25/10

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No More Outs to Play (A Villanelle)

by Joe Pacheco

As per Edward Arlington Robinson

They have all moved away,
The stadium’s shut and still.
No more outs to play.

No one to shout hooray
Or feel late inning thrill,
They have all moved away.

No afternoon display
Of valor, strength and skill.
No more outs to play.

Nor high priced stars to pay
Or luxury box to fill,
They have all moved away.

As empty stands decay,
Grass shrouds the pitcher’s hill,
No more outs to play.

One last fireworks array
Will deliver final kill.
They have all moved away.
No more outs to play.

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A villanelle is a poetic form which entered English-language poetry in the 1800s from the imitation of French models. A villanelle has only two rhyme sounds. The first and third lines of the first stanza are rhyming refrains that alternate as the third line in each successive stanza and form a couplet at the close. A villanelle is 19 lines long, consisting of five tercets and one concluding quatrain.   (Wikipedia)

Posted 4/23/2010

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Dear Major League Loser (a/k/a A Sorry Red Sox Fan)

by Stephen Jones

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27 banners & how many pennants?
Looking from Mars counting

Viewing a planet history
Nothing’ shrouded nor a mystery

Of shafts of light of gods & odds
& stars aligned

No mystery to see just
Observing the future inevitable

Adios Red Sox

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Posted 4/22/2010