Browse all poems and songs in the 'Scandals' Category

Slide, Utley, Slide

by Ember Nickel

To the tune of “Slide, Kelly, Slide”

I played a game of baseball down at old Chavez Ravine
The crowd was intermittent, and the heat was fierce and keen
A nobler lot of people there might have chanced to play
But you would never hear that said from teammates in L.A.
The game was quickly started while I sat on the bench
Waiting for Mattingly to call upon a would-be mensch.
Hernandez drew a walk and then it was my turn to bat,
Eked out a quiet single and there was no need to spat.

Slide, Utley, slide! The fray will never end
Slide, Utley, slide! Your havoc they’ll suspend
If your blows are just too crushing, and you aren’t duly blushing
They won’t take you to Flushing! Slide, Utley, slide!

Twas in the seventh inning they called me in, you’ll find
But once I got to first, moving along was on my mind.
But something was the matter, sure I couldn’t see the ball
But my slide into the base broke down Tejada’s leg and all
I was running down the baseline, I figured that he tripped
For when I tumbled into him, he got severely flipped.
‘Twas a most unpleasant feeling, though at first they called me out;
We both were rattled, and that’s when the fans began to shout;


They overturned the play so to the base I got to go
The way they took Tejada out, it must have been a show.
On Gonzalez then depended the victory or defeat,
And he came through to show the world that we would not be beat.
Five to two was the score of the game when we got done,
But when I got suspended I thought that was much less fun.
The news got home ahead of me, they said I couldn’t play;
The fans told me that I should sue, and then began to say . . .



A Couple of Things to Say To Your Do-Gooder Liberal “Friends” When a Guy in a Game Gets Badly Injured by a Dirty Play

By Stuart Shea

The knockdown pitch is a part of the game.
The occasional fracture the price of the fame.
The late, brutal slide is the way it’s been done!
And watching the pain?—Well, we might find it fun.


First-Time Caller, Long-Time Listener

by James Finn Garner

It’s how it’s done
Gotta play hard
It’s how it’s done
He should’ve watched out
It’s how it’s done
No room for cry-babies
It’s how it’s done
You gotta want to win
It’s how it’s done
It’ll happen again
It’s how it’s done
Glad it’s not my guy


The Muscular Maccabean

by the Village Elliott

For Hank Greenberg and Edgar Guest*
On Rosh Hashanah, 1st of Tishrei, 5776**

“Landsman” Hank played ball Jew’s New Year’s Day,
Won game with two home runs ’cause  he’d play.
Ten days on, Hank for sure
Wouldn’t play on Yom Kippur.***
Tigers lost, but won flag anyway.


*Came Yom Kippur: A Hank Greenberg Poem
10th of Tishrei, 5695
by Edgar Guest
Published in Detroit Free Press, 1934

The Irish didn’t like it when they heard of Greenberg’s fame
For they thought a good first baseman should possess an Irish name;
And the Murphys and Mulrooneys said they never dreamed they’d see
A Jewish boy from Bronxville out where Casey used to be.
In the early days of April not a Dugan tipped his hat
Or prayed to see a “double” when Hank Greenberg came to bat.
In July the Irish wondered where he’d ever learned to play.
“He makes me think of Casey!” Old Man Murphy dared to say;
And with fifty-seven doubles and a score of homers made
The respect they had for Greenberg was being openly displayed.
But upon the Jewish New Year when Hank Greenberg came to bat
And made two home runs off pitcher Rhodes—they cheered like mad for that.
Came Yom Kippur — holy fast day worldwide over to the Jew —
And Hank Greenberg to his teaching and the old tradition true
Spent the day among his people and he didn’t come to play.
Said Murphy to Mulrooney, “We shall lose the game today!
We shall miss him on the infield and shall miss him at the bat
But he’s true to his religion—and I honor him for that!”

** Rosh Hashanah: lit., head of the year

***Yom Kippur: Day of Atonement (Holiest of Holy Days 10 days after Rosh Hashanah)


Wanna Bet?

by the Village Elliott

“I’m afraid it’s so,” said Shoeless Joe.
Lost confession? Though cleared, Judge said “So?”
“As a player, didn’t bet,”
Pete Rose still claiming, yet
Baseball says, “Hall of Fame: Like Joe, ‘No!'”

Despite new evidence, some still claim,
“Say Pete gambled; so what? Why still blame?
Hall of Fame? Rose should go!”
I say, “First Shoeless Joe.
Be far better for ‘Good of the Game.'”


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