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Derek Jeter and the Iron Horse

by Hart Seely

Derek Jeter took his bat
And flailed as if to a kill a rat.
He didn’t get a hit, of course,
And thus still trailed the Iron Horse.

Derek Jeter, what a bum!
Three measily hits would never come.
We really need a solid force,
But he still trailed the Iron Horse.

Derek Jeter, swinging late.
One brutal day: and 0 for eight.
And yet we state, withour remorse,
That he is now our Iron Horse.

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Posted 9/10/2009

Hart Seely is the author of  Mother Goose Goes to Washington, as well as Oh Holy Cow: The Selected Verse of Phil Rizzuto, newly released in a 15th-anniversary edition. He often hangs around the Yankee website, It is High, It is Far, It is….caught, offering tasteful and constructive comments to management and players alike.

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The Supressed Passion of Derek Lee

By James Finn Garner

“Derrek Lee said 2009 is just one of “those years” and believes the Cubs don’t have to make many changes to get back to playoff form.  “It could be totally different [in 2010],” the first baseman said.”  — Chicago Tribune, 9/8/2009

This season’s been a let-down.
Except for a bad break or two,
We might be in the thick of things
Instead of trailing by 22.

Heaven knows we tried our best.
You can’t blame us guys on the team.
Every day is a titanic struggle,
No matter how blasé we may seem.

You can’t force these things to happen.
You can’t get too low or too high.
I hope the fans can understand
As another season’s drifted by.

Posted 9/9/2009

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Fire Sale

By Stuart Shea

Yes, you heard right!
Underachieving major league ballplayers
Available for pennies on the dollar!
Hoot and holler
And make your way
To 35th and Shields today!

Visit Kenny Williams’ close-out old-sock sale!
Don’t wait for a flyer in the mail
Because this offer only lasts til
All the talent is gone,
Or September 30, whichever comes first.

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Posted 9/8/2009

Stu’s new book, Pink Floyd FAQ, is available now!  

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Baseball Cards

by Dan Quisenberry  (KC Royals, 1979-1988)

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that first baseball card I saw myself
in a triage of rookies
atop the bodies
that made the hill
we played king of
I am the older one
the one on the right
game-face sincere
long red hair unkempt
a symbol of the ’70s
somehow a sign of manhood
you don’t see
how my knees shook on my debut
or my desperation to make it

the second one I look boyish with a gap-toothed smile
the smile of a guy who has it his way
expects it
I rode the wave’s crest
of pennant and trophies
I sat relaxed with one thought
“I can do this”
you don’t see
me stay up till two
reining in nerves
or post-game hands that shook involuntarily

glory years catch action shots
arm whips and body contortions
a human catapult
the backs of those cards
cite numbers
that tell stories of saves, wins, flags, records
handshakes, butt slaps, celebration mobs
you can’t see
the cost of winning
lines on my forehead under the hat
trench line between my eyes
you don’t see my wife, daughter and son
left behind

the last few cards
I do not smile
I grim-face the camera
tight lipped
no more forced poses to win fans
eyes squint
scanning distance
crow’s-feet turn into eagle’s claws
you don’t see
the quiver in my heart
knowledge that it is over
just playing out the end

I look back
at who I thought I was
or used to be
now, trying to be funny
I tell folks
I used to be famous
I used to be good
they say
we thought you were bigger
I say
I was

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Published 9/2/2009

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Zay, Deceased

By John Shea

.Reflections on viewing an otherwise unidentified 1880s player listing in the old MacMillan baseball encyclopedia

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Unremembered:
Which hand you threw with.
When was your birthday.
How tall you stood.

The simple fact of your demise
A mere assumption, an
Actuarial extrapolation.
Perhaps you’re hanging on still somewhere,
Raging, shaking your fist at God.
Youneverknow.

What we can be sure of:
One fine afternoon,
Before some long-forgotten scribe,
You stood on a hill
And kissed infinity.

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Posted 8/21/2009