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


Sgt. Pepper’s 2015 Forecast: “Being for the Benefit of Mister I”

by James Finn Garner

For the benefit of Mister I
The Tiges will give another try
At a Series ring
In the race four times before
Then they’re always shown the door
Damn, it stings

.     But with Cabrera and two Martinez
.     The hits should still be raining in Motown
.     If God wills, Alex Avila doesn’t get hurt

Yeah, Max Scherzer hit the road
The Nationals can bear that load
(He will be missed)
David Price might have the stuff
But does the bullpen have enough?
Let’s check the list:

.     Phil Coke is gone, and Rick Porcello,
.     Which leaves Soria, Albuquerque and Nathan
.     Climbing higher? Dumpster fire? Who the hell knows?

Castellanos will be there
We’ll marvel at Cespedes’ flair
In center field
Ian Kinsler leaps and spins
Let’s hope Iglesias’ pins
Have really healed

.     Twisting the government ’round his fingers
.     Is not enough for Detroit’s pizza king
.     Which is why Mister I keeps spending his dough….

 



Sgt. Pepper’s 2015 Forecast: “Getting Better”

by James Finn Garner

I used to get mad up in Queens
At that flub-driven, do-nothing team
but Omar Minaya’s long said “Sayonara”
The rebuild is picking up steam.

I admit they’re getting better
A little better all the time
I have to admit they’re getting better
The Mets are better! And I roll my eyes.

The rotation has Senor Colon
An anchor in more ways than one
Jakob deGrom is really da bomb
I hope Wheeler’s arm isn’t done

I admit they’re getting better
A little better all the time
We’ve heard it before — they’re getting better
The Mets are better! And I roll my eyes.

I’ve been patient with Granderson, Ruben Tejada, and everyone else on this weak-swinging squad,
I trust David Wright is finally right
And God protect Travis d’Arnaud.

I admit they’re getting better
A little better all the time
They’re not the Yanks — they’re getting better
The Mets are better! And I roll my eyes.

 



Sgt. Pepper’s 2015 Forecast: “Joe Maddon, Joe Maddon!”

by James Finn Garner

For one hundred years, nothin’ but tears and “Wait til next year”
Nothing to do but hoist a few nine-dollar beers
What are the odds? Did we anger the gods?
I have one thing to say, that it’s okay:
JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON!

Epstein’s at work, trying to stock up the old farm
Call up sure things, they bring nothing, nothing but harm

.      Try to fix the park, the fanbase screams
.      Just try to find new money streams
.      Rebuild the bleachers?  They’re still torn down!
.      Cards fans and rats all over town

Not much to say ‘bout Felix Pie, another “sure bet.”
Itzuris and Guzman — what’s the use, man?  One more null set.
Calling Marmol to save’s like digging your grave
I have one thing to say, that it’s okay:
JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON!

.      But Castro, Alcantara and Baez
.      Might be as good as Epstein says
.      Jorge Soler’s a beast, and — WOW!
.      John Lester’s here? Please shoot me now!

Try to temper hope, not be a dope, but it’s getting hard
Everyone’s cryin’ to see Kris Bryant in the ballyard
Reverse the Curse? We couldn’t get worse.
There’s just one thing to say, we’ve made our play:
JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON!
JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON!
JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON, JOE MADDON!

 

 



Sgt. Pepper’s 2015 Forecast: “When I’m .204″

by James Finn Garner

For the Yankees:

When I get older, losing my speed,
Not so long from now,
Will you still be batting me at DH,
Late-game left field, riding the bench?
When the Yanks are down 17 to 3,
Count on me to score.
Will you still play me,
Will you still pay me,
When I’m .204?

Every contract season there’s a vet’ran on the trading block that could fill a need
. . . CC, Gardner, A-Rod, Beltran . . .
Then in March he wrecks his knees,
Hank, is this your plan?

Farm system looks like a north Texas ranch
In 1933.
By August we’ll be chasing after Tampa Bay
All our prospects traded away.
Reflexes wane and muscles are sore
“On deck: Dumbledore!”
Will you still play me,
Will you still pay me,
When I’m .204?

 



Rendon, Rodon and Rondon

by James Finn Garner

Rendon, Rodon and Rondon
Were drinking beers one day
Their waitress Babs then served the tab
But couldn’t get it paid

For Rendon tore his tendon
When reaching for his dough
And the harlots down in Charlotte
Had left Rodon with diddly-oh

Rondon’s wing was in a sling
His back pocket much too far
So poor old Babs had to eat the tab
And banned them from her bar

 

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