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Cruz Control!

By Stuart Shea

Nellie started with the Mets, but never raised the roof.
Some said he had power, but he never showed much proof.
Next, Nellie played for Oakland, but he couldn’t get a chance.
Nellie went up north, but Milwaukee didn’t dance.

So Nellie went to Dallas, and did well in Triple-A,
And showed that he could hit enough to hang around and play!
Five years in Seattle, and one more with the Birds,
A six-time All-Star, a homer crown, biceps too strong for words.

Now he’s simply Boomstick, a respected veteran bat,
And the Twins are happy with that.

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Memories of Marty

by Stuart Shea

A voice, clear-channel, fills the Midwestern night
As a teenager listens in bed.
Pete, Doggie, Griffey, Little Joe,
“And this one belongs to the Reds!”

The young man, driving back from work,
World Series dreams in his head.
Soto, Rijo, Sabo, Larkin,
“And this one belongs to the Reds!”

The Reds collapsed, immortals gone,
Votto and Gray in their stead.
Nearly 50 years on, Marty is gone. . .
This one belonged to the Reds.

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Series Unction

by Stuart Shea

Everyone has theories
About why this World Series
Is packed with non-stop offense—

“The baseballs are slick
The pitchers can’t stick
Their nails into their surface.”

We know that these hitters
Don’t get the jitters
And can deal with sophisto defense—

They just loft the ball
Right over the wall
And make all the pitchers nerface.

 

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Slipping Suds

By Stuart Shea

What’s happening to those Brewers?
To those blue, gray, and pee-yellow Crewers?
As the Cubs make the plays,
All Milwaukee now prays
Their year doesn’t go straight down the sewers.

 

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Voices, Still

By Stuart Shea

Mr. Scully hangs up his microphone,
Dick Enberg does as well.
Bill Brown retires from Houston’s booth,
Ain’t it the truth–
Things ain’t like they used to be.

Things ain’t like they used to sound.
The men who call the games
Don’t have the varied background
Of the older famous names.

Oh, the older famous names,
With their gravitas and experience,
They understand the common sense
Of silence.

Now they’ll be silent forevermore,
Closing the door
On a time and a style that will never return.