Browse all poems and songs in the 'James Finn Garner' Category


You Don’t Know Jackson

by James Finn Garner

Edwin Jackson
Might have some action
Left in his fastball, batters fear,

‘Cuz Baltimore signed him
His “best” years behind him
His 12th team in 14 years.

Buck, it’s a mirage–
He can’t hit a garage,
Throws as straight as a cluster of starlings.

Looks like Duquette’s
Willing to forget
His results with the Cubs and the Marlins.

And the Tigers.
And the Padres.
And the Braves.
And the White Sox.
And the Dodgers.
And probably the Pilots.

 



Don’t Need the O-K

By James Finn Garner

Francisco, the K-Rod of lore,
Can’t get batters out like before.
Bought by Detroit for a bag of rocks,
He now harangues reporters to squawk
No coach ever asked about his demotion.
Where did he ever get the mad notion
That, at his current level of play,
Ausmus and Dubee needed his okay?

Whether by smoke signal, carrier pigeon or love letter,
There’s only one message for you, pal: Pitch better.

 



The Canning of Mr. Met

by James Finn Garner

With apologies (not really needed) to Robert W. Service

There are strange things done in a season’s run
.   By the characters ’round Citi Field
The yardbird gramps will loiter on ramps
.   And tell you to keep your eyes peeled.
The borough of Queens has staged horrible scenes
.   But the horriblest of them yet
Was a dark night in May, with the team put away,
.   We got flipped off by Mr. Met.

Now Mr. Met, let no one forget,
.   Has been around since the Amazin’s began.
The face of the team had a smile that beamed
.   Brighter than any real Gotham man.
So when miserable play, day after day,
.   Leaves the line twixt patience and torture blurred
It should be no surprise that even this guy
.   Is reduced to giving the bird.

The Brewers had bombed ol’ Jacob deGrom
.   And, heckled by some random slob,
Mr. Met let loose with a low-flying goose
.   And now is out of a job.
When you see him there, in the crowd in Times Square,
.   Taking snaps for tips with Iowa teens
With Elmo and Kermit, slow down and permit
.   Him to reflect on what might have been.

 



The Pursuit of Happ-iness

by James Finn Garner

Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap!
That’s the sound of Ian Happ
He takes his bat and with a slap
Hits that ball all over the map

Scorecard keepers can never nap
If there’s a chance that Ian mayhap
Knock the pill into the gap
He makes me happy! Happ! Happ! Happ!

 



Don’t Stop Bee-Lieving

by James Finn Garner

ap-17127597907941

The Royals lately are a steaming pile,
Batting and pitching quite smelly–
Is this what brought the bees to town?
Or was it the Royal jelly?

 

AL East

NL East

Extra Innings

AL Central

NL Central

Poems by Type

AL West

NL West

Heavy Hitters

Copyright 2007 Bardball.