Yorman’s Back!

By Stuart Shea

They couldn’t keep him down!
He’s back for another round.
The guy with the funny name
Has another chance at fame.

Make sure to fill out a brand new dance card-o!
Last night saw the return of Yorman Bazardo!

.

Game Update!  by James Finn Garner

In his debut with the Astros — “Howdy there, Pard-o!” —
Yorman left the Fish battered and scarred-o
(Though with 10 hits, they might have starred-o).
Our young stud of his dignity keeps a shard-o.
When the ‘Stros play the Phils next, wherever the yard-o,
Yorman will hoist those Phools on their own petard-o!

.

Posted 8/20/2009

Pirate S#&@

by Stu Shea

.

Freddie and Jack play for Pittsburgh,
Losers for many a year,
It’s not hard to see
That this century
Local fans want a winner to cheer.

The Pirate ship’s listing and lurching,
Taking on water and flies.
Nobody’s good
And it’s understood
That “untouchable” doesn’t apply.

Freddie and Jack want new contracts.
Fred can’t play second at all.
Jack cannot hit,
And the team’s for s#&@,
These guys ain’t en route to The Hall.

.

Posted 8/18/2009

Tunnel of Love

(Or, From Pitcher’s Hand to Catcher’s Glove)

.

by Todd Herges

With apologies and thanks to Bruce Springsteen and Mark Knopfler

.

In a screaming ring of faces
The fat man sits on a little stool
As my eyes take a walk all over you,
As his fingers take a walk in front of the cup.

Then the lights go out and it’s just the three of us:
Pitcher, catcher, batter.
Let it rock and let it roll
Down in through this tunnel of love.

Hey mister blue give me oh-two, give me oh and two ‘cause two can play this game.
But it’s only gonna be me playing tonight
With a mind, with a twig.
A little maple twig, soon to be shattered – if it’s dared put on my pitch.

Then the lights go out it’s just the three of us.
I’m laughing at you, you’re laughing at me,
But you’re a victim of my night
As I shoot an arrow through your heart.

You gotta learn to live with what you can’t rise above
The way my two finger rises and rides away
‘Cause it’s been money for muscle, another whiriligig,
And rockaway rockaway

On the tunnel of love. In this tunnel of love.

Down the pipe down the chute down the pike
I shoot the little seed,
The little pill-sized 5-ounce pea,
The tiny pea-sized 9-inch aspirin tablet,

Past you.

.

posted 8/17/2009

No Matter How Good

by Stu Shea

.

No matter how good
Or no matter how much,
We all know that know A-Rod can’t hit in the clutch.

Ignore how he’s gotten
The Yanks out of dutch.
The guys say that A-Rod can’t hit in the clutch.

They’ll wave their statistics
And say such and such,
But we know that A-Rod can’t hit in the clutch.

The radio told us,
And they’ve got the touch.
That’s how we know he can’t hit in the clutch.

All those smart guys can go back
And hide in their hutch.
‘Cause I say that A-Rod can’t hit in the clutch.

Obama is Kenyan!
Health care’s a crutch!
And I know that A-Rod can’t hit in the clutch!

.

Stu’s new book, Pink Floyd FAQ, containing everything you’ve ever wanted to know about Pink Floyd, is out now.  Buy it in bookstores or on the web.  Do it.  Now.

Posted 8/10/2009

Ode to Scott Podsednik

by James Finn Garner

.

Scottie Pods, Scottie Pods,
What were the chances?
Oh, what were the odds?

Cut by the Rockies because you’re too old–
Your step getting heavy, your bat growing cold–
The Pale Hose invite you back into the fold
And you climb your way back like the grinder of old.
Fans love a player still hungry and bold
Who refuses to note for whom the bell’s tolled.
In the hot summer night, the scoreboard explodes
As you dig hard to mine one more season of gold.

Scottie Pods, Scottie Pods,
What were the chances?
Oh, what were the odds?

.

Posted 8/6/2009