Browse all poems and songs in the 'Scandals' Category


Andy Coakley: Born Too Soon

by R.J. Lesch

When Andy Coakley, traded to the Cubs
in time for ’08′s crazy pennant race,
received one of the pettiest of snubs
and didn’t get World Series dough, the case
of Coakley v. the Cubs went to the courts.
He knew he didn’t rate a full share, but
he thought he should get something. But all sorts
of calumnies got thrown into his gut.
“He’s so ungrateful,” said the press. “He should
be booted out.” And so he spent his prime
in outlaw leagues. His arm was just no good
by when he made it back to the big time.

When Coakley got the shafting from his team,
free agency was still a distant dream.

 

 



Allegation’s Disillusion

by the Village Elliott

Sat in Wrigley with Great Uncle Art,
Local White Sox fan from the team’s start.
Asked ’bout his Sox team Black,
He looked 50 years back,
I could feel dark angst still breaks his heart.

Allegations my childhood team raided
By hacking; legacy degraded.
Feel like fan of Black Sox,
Or Bill Belichick’s jocks.
Perhaps I’m just too f*cking jaded.

I don’t think it mere disillusion
Created by Cardinals’ collusion.
In game’s hacking scandal
The league might mishandle,
But fact of FBI’s inclusion.



In the Shade of Freddie Gray

by Joe Pacheco

In the shade of Freddie Gray
The empty stands sit still.
No fans to shout hooray.

No anthem sung today,
No luxury box will fill
In the shade of Freddie Gray.

On field, two teams display
Their valor, speed and skill –
But no fans shout hooray.

Sirens wail just miles away,
Dark on the pitcher’s hill
Lies the shade of Freddie Gray.

A miracle catch or play
Won’t give late inning thrill.
No fans to shout hooray.

Respect or shame? We cannot say
But we’ll remember well –
No fans to shout hooray
In the shade of Freddie Gray.

 

“Sanibel Joe” Pacheco is a retired New York City superintendent living on Sanibel Island, Fla. His poetry has been featured several times on National Public Radio’s Morning Edition, Latino USA and WGCU. He has performed his poetry with David Amram’s jazz quartet at the Bowery Poets Café and Cornelia Street Café in New York City.



Unwanted History (Orioles/White Sox, April 29, 2015)

by Stephen Jones

In Baltimore today,
Because of instability,
Baseball’s being played
Behind close-door security.
With no fans’ cheers or jeers,
With no waves or foam fingers . . .
It’s a sad baseball first.

In 1857, 16 teams
Were organized in New York.
And nationwide, by ’65,
It was well over a hundred.
History says, even in war
No game’s been played
Without some fan present.

But today Camden Yards is empty–
It’s empty of its soul.
Ticket holders have been told
To stay away
Because of violence in the streets–
And the only way to see the game
Is via cable at home.

I’d rather throw a baseball . . .
Not a rock.

 



Baseball in Baltimore

By Stu Shea

A game without a crowd?
That won’t be very loud.
And should we still feel proud
As a town hides under a shroud?
Despite manicured fields and flags unfurled,
You can’t shut out the world.

 

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