Browse all poems and songs in the 'The Game Itself' Category

Fifty Thousand Moons: The Big Papi Farewell Poem

by Hart Seely

We will moon him from the bleachers.
We will moon him from the stands.
He will think our butts strange creatures
From some weird exotic lands.

We will moon him from the boxes,
Where the richest are assigned.
Full autumnal equinoxes,
Fifty-thousand grand behinds.

We will moon him from the upper decks,
Way up there in the sky,
He’ll see fifty-thousand hammy specks,
Each moonbeam shouting, “Bye!”

We’ll moon Big Papi all the night,
Show all our nooks and crannies.
Into his brain we’ll burn the sight
Of fifty thousand fannies.

We will moon him in the lower tiers,
Where cheeks doth shine quite proudly,
We’ll moon him as we sip our beers,
And often, farting loudly.

We will go down in the hist’ry book,
Our tickets will be keepsakes!
We’ll never know a greater look
Than fifty-thousand beefcakes.

We’ll moon him at that certain time,
When Papi waves, “Goodbye now.”
No cop shall charge us with a crime,
He’ll merely wink an eyebrow.

We’ll moon him for posterity!
To show the world what’s right,
Though some will cry, “Vulgarity!”
They’ll know we won the night.

O, it shall be one glorious scene!
A gathering of the masses!
No greater use shall e’er have been,
For fifty-thousand asses.


For more on the drive to moon David Ortiz in his final appearance at Yankee Stadium tonight, go to Hart’s website, It is High, It is Far, It is . . . caught.

More information on this historic event is also at

Boston Sweeps Yanks

by Stephen Jones

Yankee fans always like to boast;
Instead, they got Pinstripe toast.

Time to give up chance’s ghost?
After Boston, it’s an almost.


The Ghost of Post-Seasons Past

by Hilary Barta

To October the Cubbies are cruising
But to homies the subject’s confusing
By fears we are daunted
For years we’ve been haunted
By knowing our club’s knack for losing.


Extra! Extra!

by Hilary Barta

Game tied after nine, heads to ten
Run scored, then they tie it again
After inning sixteen
Both bullpens picked clean
Two teams that decline to say “when”


Hilary Barta runs the essential old-movie-and-horror limerick site LimerWrecks.  Check it out.

America’s Favorite Pastime

by Monica DeRee

Blue skies and green grass
A partner in crime to watch time pass
Sacks of peanuts and beers in hand
Everyone yelling “Out!” as loud as they can
Boxes filled with play after play
A ballpark dog eaten only one way
Lights brighten the night as the sun dies down
Last cheer erupts as the winning pitch leaves the mound


AL East

NL East

Extra Innings

AL Central

NL Central

Poems by Type

AL West

NL West

Heavy Hitters

Copyright 2007 Bardball.