Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
It’s been a rough year for the Pods
Who were meant to be winning, by odds.
While weak has been Bogaerts,
And Machado’s been worse,
Soto’s tapped TatÃs in the grods.
Soto did Tatis dirty
(via @ilivedb1tch) pic.twitter.com/Pb0CuSlHba
— Jomboy Media (@JomboyMedia) July 8, 2023
It seemed at the dawn of the year
That our starters were something to fear.
Cole, Rodon, Nestor, Sevi —
Our staff was ace-heavy.
Now we wish we had back JP Sears.
Gerrit Cole is the team’s only ace.
Twenty wins? He is close to the pace.
But when he gets a bad call,
The next pitch clears the wall.
You can tell by the look on his face.
The deal for Rodon really sucks.
Often injured, he still got the bucks.
It made him quite rich.
Maybe one day he’ll pitch.
Our front office is run by a schmuck.
Like Tiant and Bartolo Colon,
No one knew what pitch Nestor was thow’n.
Hitters no longer have doubt.
Did they figure him out?
Or was his greatness overblown?
When not hurt, Luis can pitch great.
But often, it’s not worth the wait.
Something’s always off.
What’s next? Whooping cough?
At what point do we just cut bait?
They’re both number fives, this is true.
Forced to pitch like they were one or two.
Sure, we got a perfecto . . .
Also, lots of dreckto.
So, let’s see what Brito can do.
For Frankie we gave up a ton
To land our second number one.
But our hopes are gone, oh!
He’s another Pavano
Who throws off flat ground just for fun.
These lims first appeared on the indispensable Yankee blog, It is High, It is Far, It is … caught.
Domingo Germán was in trouble,
His baseball life on the bubble.
His last two outings had been
ERs of 8 and 10,
The tabloids were blaring in his ears
“Off with his head!” and other smears,
And frankly, he didn’t know if and when
He’d be on the mound again.
But this all changed on a Wednesday night
When, in Oakland, he got it right
With a curveball that was unhittable
And a demeanor that was unflappable.
The result: a perfect game, number
Twenty-four in baseball’s history-ledger.
Fourth in history:
Three five-hit games in a month.
Luis Arráez!
The captain has turned off the seatbelt sign and out comes the lighter and with a flick and a dip the birthday cake is aglow and in the arms of the attendant with an enhanced chest followed by the power hitter with enhanced pecs, the guy no one likes, and everybody now happy birthday dear skipper and of course there’s the lefty bullpen specialist or whatever in the vestibule with a camo koozie and matching trucker hat hitting on the other very good looking attendant in fact look at that all of them are All-Stars that’s no coincidence because even in this day of time’s up I’m not here for you there’s still more work to do especially in the big leagues but we’re getting there and hey now batter up everyone’s got a chance the night before opening day and tonight’s flight is the time to feel good because tomorrow afternoon at about the time hats cover hearts for the rockets’ red glare comes the spotlight of expectancy right in the eyes but not now, right now this is the feel good express and the coaches they all feel it especially the hitting coach, guy thinks this is a seventies British rock band, and shortstop batting leadoff he feels it, mister happy peeking over the seat in front of him eyeing this curious celebration, and the dad-bod married guy with three kids what’s he even play now anyway left field now he’s two years postpeak and two years yet on his contract you know he’s hoping he can keep it together that long, oh but what’s that, did you see Arañita coming out of the can just now, looks like he puked his guts out, skinny guy with rubber arm and baconsizzle fastball, poor guy all the tools save location and he’ll lay it up for you, that cockhigh fastball and he knows he doesn’t have that tool yet that’s for the vets with meat on their bones, drives him to the can it does, but he’s a bet for the future that he can pull it together and turn in something nice, a good career, and isn’t that what this flight is, a manifest of all the hopefuls here together at once on board at six hundred knots and thirty thousand feet, an earthbound missile at the apogee still up in the clouds, trajectory of the bombs off Arañita, peanuts and Cracker Jack happy birthday to you.
Ken Derry is a former editor for the New York Yankees and has an MFA in Creative Writing from The New School. Some fiction credits include HAD, Danse Macabre, and The Carolina Quarterly.