by Jim Siergey
Designated to run
Not to shake hands
Or kiss baby’s faces
But solely to suit up
And steal some bases
We salute Herb on this other Washington’s birthday: 33 runs scored and 31 stolen bases in 105 games with nary a time at bat!
by Hilary Barta
Santo screams himself hoarse (Volume Eleven)
Seems his team has just forced a Game Seven
Angel Brickhouse is merry
Getting pickled is Caray
Banks just beams from, of course, baseball heaven.
by James Finn Garner
Tell me, has it come to this–
To be outhit by Coco Crisp?
To win outright the AL East,
Then be swept out like autumn leaves?
To watch my teammates flailing madly
And our hurlers piching badly?
Then step out for a curtain call
And have all Fenway watch me bawl?
I know I’ve won three rings, but still–
I’m not quite set to give up the thrill.
by The Village Elliott
End of the fourth inning: Arrieta 3 – Giants 0
AL claims, “Need a DH to hit
For the pitcher; it’s better they sit.”
But NL claims, “Nonsense!
Ninth part of team’s offense!
In the playoffs, Cubs’ hurlers prove it.”
by Michael X. Ferraro
The cap of Richard Porcello
Casts a dim light on the fellow.
It’s encrusted with gunk
And emits such a funk
Pine tar transforms into Jell-O.