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The Return of the Rocket

by Stu Shea

So Roger’s coming back at last.

Be still my heart that beats so fast!

Forgive me if I seem to joke

At Clemens’ latest blow of smoke.

 

The baseball world stands, mouth agape

As Rocket Man adjusts his cape.

Forgive me if this time I sit

And disregard this silly shit.

 

It’s not as if he’ll join my team,

So why should I, like others, scream,

“Roger’s back! Oh, praise the Lord!”

If my team his paycheck can’t afford?

 

“He wants a ring! He loves the game!”

The song remains fore’er the same.

“It’s not the money, not the perks,

It’s ’cause he loves his baseball, jerks!”

 

So Big George forks up mega-mills

For 15 visits to the hill.

(He doesn’t have to hang around

Those days when he’s not on the mound.)

 

His “veteran leadership” and arm

Calm Torre’s typical alarm.

But is it right to pay and pay

A guy who plays the game this way?

 

No matter what his season holds,

I’m waiting til next year unfolds,

And he retires, the spoiled dunce,

And keeps a promise just this once.

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A Poem for Lou Piniella

by James Finn Garner

Quite a fella,

That Lou Piniella.
He ain’t yella,
You can tella.

He joined the Cubs
To lead those scrubs
And prove past flubs
Were yesterday’s stubs.

A Herculean task?
Don’t even ask.
In last year’s grotesque,
They finished dead last.

But with Al Soriano
And Carlos Zambrano,
The team may be on to
A World Series, pronto.

And if the Cubs win
A World Series, then
The fans will have gin
Drenching their chins.

If not, then old Lou
Will have some ‘splainin’ to do,
Which he’ll probably do
With a meltdown or two.

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A Man Named “Pronk”

by Stu Shea

He hits like a God

And runs like a statue.

If you throw a fastball,

He’ll line it back at you.

Before the DH,

He might have been stuck

In minor-league ball

With a lot of bad luck.

Would his defense have been mocked like poor old Smead Jolley’s?

Booting balls like he’s starring in Flo Ziegfeld’s “Follies”?

Who knows? He’d still be a hero while swinging the wood.

If we “designate” Hafner, just designate him “good.”

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Early Buehrle Hurly-Burly

by Stu Shea

While it isn’t the same

As winning a game

From towheaded, cute little leaguers,

To shut down a team

That’s no hitting machine

Remains low on the “difficult” meter.

But no-hit affairs

Are still fairly rare,

Particularly in this age,

So even the Rangers

Who mostly are strangers

Pose putative threats in the cage.

In Mark Buehrle’s big scene

Back on April 18

At windy, chilly U.S. Cell,

He flattened out Texas

Like they were his breakfast

Or apples for William Tell.

Ex-Cubs Sosa, Hairston

And Lofton had no fun

Against Buehrle’s changing of speeds,

And obscuros like Kata,

Cruz, Laird and the remainda

Dropped no base hits into the weeds.

So Buehrle was fitter.

He got his no-hitter,

The AL’s first since Derek Lowe’s,

Bringing him validation

Across our great nation

In expanded post-game highlight shows.

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Bonds of Irony

by Stu Shea

 

Whitey Ford and Willie Mays,

Lew Burdette and Elroy Face,

Bunning, Stargell, Wynn, and Rose,

Gaylord Perry, goodness knows!

Famous players, heroes all,

Most of them are in the Hall.

Where’s the “throw the bums out” call

Since they used speed, or scuffed the ball?

***

When Barry Bonds breaks Aaron’s mark,

Skeletons will fill the park.

Bud will lie to us again

About how much he knew, and when.

Fans will throw their hands up high

And try to find a reason why

They ought to go to baseball games

And see stars besmirch their own names.