Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
Yo Willie McGee,
Hey Willie McGee
Your bat will stay still if you listen to me
It goes back and forth,
Precision Swiss watch
So try not to move and bust balls like Ed Koch
But wait, now you’re still
And obeying some rule
That was set out to force you to suffer a fool!
My bad, Willie Dean
Stay the same, keep that swing
Tick the tock of your bat and you’ll be MVP!
Visit Sandy and his improv comedy palz at the Schadenfreude website.
Posted 10/23/07
Could have been the jingle
of his name that led him
to the banking game.
But then again, he was
“Chet Thrift” with runs
back in fifty-one
When his ERA was lowest
in the Senior Circuit —
his winning mark
just a tad higher
than prime!
Posted 10/19/07
by Stu Shea
“It’s hard to influence a big group. We’ve got some good kids on the team. Don’t get me wrong, please don’t misinterpret my impressions. [But] it’s hard to translate experience. I don’t know why they don’t get it.
“It’s close to the end of the season. And a career for me, too. I’m running out of time. A lot of kids in here, they don’t understand that…and it’s hard to get them to understand that because they’ve haven’t been there. So there lies some frustration.”
–Jeff Kent, 9/21/07
Jeff Kent, second base for the Dodgers,
Is defending his fellow old codgers.
Says the kids don’t play right—
Most are black, and he’s white.
Got that? Roger. Kent’s a mean-spirited, selfish racist who just wants to get his name in the papers and doesn’t care about the mess he leaves behind, especially if it makes him look good and other people look bad.
Posted 10/18/07
Say hey, Willie! Say hey!
Your god-boy Barry is a true filly when it comes to being the next king of swat,
But it won’t matter much, ‘coz he lost his touch, once he started fillin’ up on THE JUICE.
Just like Sammy Sosa and young Mark McGwire, whose Louisvilles were on fire in that great summer of ’98, setting’ new swat records, fillin’ up on THE JUICE.
But THE JUICE is a noose and it only gets tighter, makes the swinger a
singer all the way to the bank, year after year after year, which is until THE JUICE starts to fizz
And the smacking goes to intermittent rain delays down on the field that so many play-by-play color-men describe as “dismal.”
But it’s no matter, Willie, for this boy is your pride and joy, and his greatness will never cause you fatigue.
Still.
Eyebrows will be raised across the league,
The young and the old will debate.
Ruth vs. Aaron, vs. Bonds vs. Mantle vs. Gehrig vs. Sosa vs. McGwire vs. A-Rod vs. any other future famer that is still left intact after they’ve had THE JUICE.
All seems so iffy if you ask me (but you don’t).
So.
Say hey, Willie! Say hey!
There will come the day when THE JUICE will dry up and blow away and all those swingers will age prematurely and become arthritic cripples and bent and lame in their retirement,
Just like you did sadly, dear Willie,
Just like you, without THE JUICE.
Posted 10/17/07
by James Finn Garner
500
Is such an exquisite digit–
The miles in a Daytona race,
Fortune‘s biggest firms anyplace,
And Fiat’s postwar car-midget.
500
The dingers hit by “Big Hurt” Frank,
Of the sweet stroke and bitter knees,
A-Rod, whipping boy for the Yankees,
And Thome, svelte as a Sherman tank.
500
Their several teams never captured it all.
The sluggers pushed on in good years and bad,
Taking what pleasure there was to be had
In campaigns of .500 ball.
500!
Carved into history like Cy Nostradamus.
As Father Time erodes, hobbles and tames,
That mark will always shine next to these names.
500 cheers for Thome, Rodriguez and Thomas!
Posted 10/16/07