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Rocky Road–My Favorite!

By Stuart Shea

Chocolate-dipped in a stale sugar cone,
The Rockies emit a miserable moan.

Last year the Series a reachable goal,
This year, last place and 12 games in the hole.

Their bats are as flabby as Jell-O congealed,
With pitching you’d find on a Little League field.

Where’s Tulo? He’s hurt, batting .152,
And Brad Hawpe’s bat has a case of the flu,

The offense an orange without any juice–
In a ballpark like Coors, there’s just no excuse.
Their 2007 pitchers a challenging foe,
But two thousand eight is a sick horror show.

Ubaldo Jimenez is just 1 and 6,
Jeff Francis ain’t fooling no one with his tricks.

Kip Wells, Micah Bowie, and–ugh–Glendon Rusch
Just prove that this pitching staff hasn’t got much.

What’s in a year? What will the team do?
I’m sure they’ll get better–in a season or two.

Posted 6/7/08 

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Baked Zito

By Stuart Shea

Zito, Zito,
His arm is meat-o.
He goes down
To weekly defeat-o.
His salary is
Really neat-o.
Unless you’re the Giants who may have to eat-o
His contract if he can’t find some team in the National League, or even anywhere at any level of organized baseball, that he can beat-o.

Posted 6/5/08

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Roger Clemens’ Emotional Distress

by James Finn Garner

Brian McNamee slimed my name,
Slandered my game,
Handed me shame.

I never did the things he said.
He hurt my cred.
**sniff**
Wish I were dead.

Can’t sleep at night, I have bad dreams,
Hear crazy screams,
‘Bout clears and creams.

Next time the two of us cross paths,
I’ll rip him in half
And gnaw on his lats.

Whatever’s left, I’ll chop in bits
And mail t’ his kids,
Mis’rable shits.

I’m warning you, judge, don’t forget:
I was a meek pet
Ere he and I met.

Posted June 3, 2008 

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BITING

By Stuart Shea

Florida is on the map–the Marlins are hot!
You want a Cinderella story? This we’ve got!

A star in the making with an Uggly name,
A third baseman with a Can-tu approach,
A left fielder Willing-ham to work, and
A superstar shortstop beyond reproach.

VandenHurk didn’t work and
Taylor has Tankersleyed.
But Miller’s ground opponents up,
Kevin Gregg has been the top.
And there’s no bad hops–just Badenhop.

They cannot last, these wriggling Fish,
Swimming in deep water with Phils, Braves, and Mets,
But it’s fun while it lasts, yo,
To see the big boys controlled
By Olson, Treanor, and Nolasco,
And Luis Gonzalez, who is 90 years old.

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Jorge Posada: A Poem of Love

by Hart Seely

The whole league fears our great armada,
Contenders in each year’s regatta.
But now it’s fear, we got a lotta,
Adrift without Jorge Posada.

We always reach that upper strata
And chase The Biggest Enchilada.
But now we’re hopeless: nothing, nada.
That’s life without Jorge Posada.

Great glory? We shall never win it,
If forced to send out Kelly Stinnett.
There is no chance with Sal Fasano,
If Jorge’s down, like Carl Pavano.

I’d rather use than Mike Piazza
Some cashier from a K Mart plaza,
Our only power would be solar,
If batting sixth we use Chad Moeller.

The fans won’t come to our arena
To watch us with Jose Molina.
Our chances shall be rank and smelly,
The day we sign Doug Mirabelli.

It brings great pain for me to say,
We’re even thin at Triple A.
And we will watch with great dismay,
Until we see our man… Jorge.

Posted 5/6/08

Hart Seely is the author of the hilarious 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.