Browse all poems and songs in the 'Players' Category


On Watching Buster Posey Hit Homers #6 and #7

By Stuart Shea

Not to be nosey,
Buster Posey,
But what has taken so long
For your bat to shower
The Giants with power?
I miss that “Bye Bye, Baby” song!

 



Tony Gwynn

by The Village Elliott

With apologies to Rudyard Kipling and his “Gunga Din”

You may talk of those who bat
With reflexes like a cat,
Like Tony Gwynn, whose prowess was high art.
Played right field for childhood team,
Padre skipper’s Gold Glove dream,
A southpaw five-tool player, ‘ead and ‘eart.
Destined for the ‘All of Fame,
San Diego son became
Legend playing locally for twenty years.
Though big money thrown his way,
Stayed for “’Ometown Discount” pay,
Around the league fans paid him with more cheers.

Fans cheered, “Gwynn! Gwynn! Stalwart star!
Your sweet swing strikes spheroid far.
Though twice Series ring eluded,
When your career concluded,
Your .394 best season since World War.”

Padre uniform he wore,
Was nothing much before
And rather less ag’in when he retired.
But his two-toned Padre ‘at
An’ eight-time entitled bat
Was all the field equipment he required.
When Dog Days of Summer’s ‘eat
Has grim gamers in retreat,
Avoid high ‘eat that makes one’s average skid,
‘Eat didn’t wither, make Gwynn faint,
Hit another where they ain’t,
And it dropped in like three thousand others did.

Fans called, “Gwynn! Gwynn! Tony Gwynn!
Eighth bat title you did win
Puts you in the Pantheon
For most NL titles won,
Only you and ‘Onus Wagner, Tony Gwynn.”

‘Allowed ‘all in Cooperstown
Honors players of renown,
With special nod for “Inner-Circle Member,”
Those elected first time out,
For the writers have no doubt
They’re Immortals whose careers fans need remember.
One Immortal who slid in
Was the Padres’ Tony Gwynn,
Second San Diego son to get so tapped.
Though first two less bat crowns wrest,
William’s lifetime average best
Though Gwynn’s.338 best since Ted first uncapped.

Fans cried, ”Goodbye, Tony Gwynn!
End in town where you begin.
Now you play on Field of Dreams
Where Immortals field the teams.
You belong on their first ballot, Tony Gwynn.”

The Village Elliott lives in Stinson Beach, California. His bio is a poem in itself–watch this space for further details.



Some Things in Baseball Aren’t Timeless

by Stephen Jones

Back in baseball’s glory days
A plug or “chaw”
Stuffed in the back pocket
Was the norm.

In those summer salad days
Players in interviews
Or at their locker room ease
Smoked without a thought.

But time and culture changed;
Still, some habits – they die hard.
Stogie, wad and cigarette may have gone,
But not so the pinch between cheek and gum.

First this year, it was Tony Gwynn -
Remember the bulge in his rounded cheek
As regular as his steady swing? -
Who died because of that reason.

Now we hear Curt Schilling’s
Undergoing chemo and radiation,
But if all the reports are true,
His “Big C” is in remission.

In baseball some things
Are timeless -
Like a walk-off home run
Or a perfect double play.

But a bad, cruel habit
which shortens mortality?



The 60-Year-Old Outfielder

By Stuart Shea

The Cubs have the buzz
For all their young players
Approaching the mark,
But aren’t out of the dark–
Their best catch of the year
Came from a fan
Snagging a ball
Hit out of the park.



“Now Stinking for the Phillies…”

By Stuart Shea

Darin Ruf ain’t got the stuff,
And Ryan Howard’s no longer powered.
Ben Revere has value unclear,
And there’s little regard fo’ Antonio Bastardo.
Pity Dominic Brown, whose average is down,
And Cody Asche, who is far from flashy.
Even Cliff Lee and Carlos Ruiz
Are suffering from the same disease.
So who’s the chiff of this team of stiffs?
Ruben Ameero, who seems like a zero.

 

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Copyright 2007 Bardball.