Browse all poems and songs in the 'Stu Shea' Category


Wacha-Mole

By Stuart Shea

Matheny hoped for damage control
As each reliever dug a hole.
Choate was awful, Maness ehh,
Rosenthal wild, Martinez bleh.

Who is left to call on, then?
Wacha’s down there, in the pen…
He hasn’t pitched for several weeks,
But nothing’s left that doesn’t leak.

See one problem, cause another–
That’s how bullpens work, my brother.
How to fix this bullpen bleed?
Get a bigger lead.

 



C.J. and the Angels Go Home

By Stuart Shea

Poor C.J. Wilson.
It’s now a matter of “What if…”
After his bad outing,
It’s the Angels’ OFF-season of the whiff.

 



Goodbye Tigers

By Stuart Shea

Could be the end of an era
For the boys in the Old English D,
Max, V-Mart, and Torii may go,
But they’re stuck with Ausmus
And a bad bench and bullpen
Unfortunately.

 



Lower the Jolly Roger

By Stuart Shea

These Pirates played with spirit,
Didn’t fear it,
Threw inside,
Didn’t hide,
Played like a team.

Up-the-middle guys made a difference,
And good defense,
But last night they didn’t pitch or hit
For shit.
So endeth the dream.

 



An Elegy to Knuckleheads

By Stuart Shea

The F***in’ A’s are history.
How did this thing come to be?!?
A four-run lead in the eighth
And a rested bullpen at the ready.

Sometimes, teams just fall apart.
The Royals showed a lot of heart,
And came back over and over again
After Lester’s gutsy start.

What does it mean for Billy Beane?
His free-agent pitchers will leave the scene,
The farm system decimated,
Times might get pretty lean.

So let’s salute these crazy A’s,
In these darkening Autumn days,
Their brand of insanity so much a part
Of the Bay Area’s humid summer haze.

Reddick and Crisp, Fuld and Gomes,
Brought joy to so many Oakland homes,
Lester, Donaldson, Doolittle, Vogt,
Their season stolen by base-thieving gnomes.

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Copyright 2007 Bardball.