The Final Frames are Finished

by James Finn Garner

The season’s done, the nights grow cold,
The best and worst of us grow old,
The Dodgers exult, the White Sox are hiring,
So let’s salute those players retiring.

Kyle Hendricks, beloved Cub
Now joins Denny’s Breakfast Club.

Joey Votto will still spread joy
Like a precocious, Pepsi-fueled boy.

Andrew McCutchen, with graceful ease,
Can now sleep in whenever he please.

In ’16 Jason Heyward got his ring,
Now he can orate on any old thing.

And old Rich Hill now takes the pill
Solely for his aches and ills.

Thank you, men, for the sounds and sights
That helped us pass our summer nights.
When the Hot Stove League convenes with friends,
We can say we saw you when.

 

O Captain! My Captain!

by Hart Seely

O Captain! my Captain!
Our fearful trip is done,
The ship has sprung a thousand leaks,
The prize we sought is gone.

The end is near, the drums I hear,
The bleachers steadily clearing,
The faithful weep; in sight, a sweep,
Juan Soto disappearing.

But o, Boone! Boone! Boone!
Bring gallon jugs of wine,
For deep on deck my Captain lies,
Struck out, oh for nine.