Browse all poems and songs in the 'Players' Category


Wonderful Iron Horse Lou

by Willard Mullin

Published in the New York World Telegram, May 1939.

You heard of the Wonderful Iron Horse Lou,
Who looked as if he would never be through,
For fourteen years as good as new,
And then of a sudden, he — ah, it’s true!
Gehrig was not like the common folk;
Created, was he, like the strongest oak;
Seemed nothing could crack on this hardy bloke!
No flaw to be found, no use to try
With hand as good and sure as his eye,
His arm was just as strong as his knee;
His back and shoulders enough for three;
And his legs the best you ever did see.
A thousand ballgames passed and found
Gehrig at first base strong and sound.
Fifteen hundred came and went;
Eighteen hundred and still unbent.
And then the two thousand twenty-first game
Playing as usual, much the same.
His body was sturdy — just like the start;
His lungs were still as strong as his heart,
He was sound all over as any part,
And yet, as a whole, it is past a doubt
In one more game he will be worn out.
The second of May, Thirty-Nine!
McCarthy was naming his men down the line —
And what do you think the people found?
Dahlgren on first to the right of the mound!
And off in the dugout with head going round
Was the man who had played himself into the ground.
You see, of course, if you’re not a dunce
How he went to pieces all at once —
All at once, and nothing first —
Just as bubbles do when they burst.
End of the wonderful Iron Horse Lou.
Flesh is flesh — and Lou is through.

 

Willard Mullin, a widely syndicated sports cartoonist, was the creator of the Brooklyn Bum, the clownish¬†personification of the Dodgers’ team in the 1940s and ’50s.¬†



Flame Thrower

by Hilary Barta

Keep your eye on Cubs thrower John Lackey
He’s a guy who can go a bit wacky
Neither calm nor collected
He’s a bomb, soon ejected
When, sky high, he’ll be blowing his stacky.

 



Imagined Commentary During a Game

by Stephen Jones

During a game, a commentator —
an ex-ball player — once said:
a manager’s job is hard.

“OK, so you’ve got twenty-five
children in a dugout …
and each one wants to be
treated just so different.

“I mean, it’s hard … I mean,
they all love to play the game,
right? But when you got children,
I mean, grown men who mebbe

“don’t wanna grow up, well,
then the manager’s got to be
part teacher, part mentor …
and also some kind of juggler.

“And all this while skating on thin ice —
dealing with egos and tantrums
and you-name-it?… No, no thank you.
Hey, believe me, I’m glad I got the

“chance to play in big league games —
that’ll never go away — but dealin’
with all that other stuff? No way.”

 



I Am Some Body!

by Jim Siergey

O, how I wish Destiny put
As catcher, one day, Barry Foote
While on the mound lands
The hurler Bill Hands
I’d pay an arm and a leg to see that

The bullpen is aptly in place
With perfectly named Elroy Face
As one last zinger
We add Rollie Fingers
With Heinie Manush up to bat

As he comes to the plate, there’s a buzz,
The one man with the name to give pause,
Each syllable clear-
Ly a body part dear:
Here comes man-of-parts Tony Armas!

 



Baez Right By You

by Hilary Barta

How fast can young Javier run?
He’s past you before you’ve begun
Plus reckless, aggressive . . .
Aw heck, he’s impressive
A master of fleet, flashy fun.

 

For daily limericks on classic cinema (including regular features like “Dwight Frye-Day”), check out Hilary’s hilarious blog, LimerWrecks.

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