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2008 AMERICAN LEAGUE THREE-LINE TEAM PREVIEWS

BALTIMORE

Is it too late to call Cal?
Or even Bob Bonner?
With Hernandez or Fahey, the season’s a goner.

BOSTON

The pitching staff is shot to hell.
With Schilling, Beckett, and Colon unwell,
They’re Dice-rolling at the opening bell.

CHICAGO

Will the Sox get greedy
With Crede?
Watch your back, Ozzie—or, rather, watch Joe’s.

CLEVELAND

It’s time for the talent to show.
And with any luck (please, God)…
Maybe a new logo?

DETROIT

No injury worries—not even a tinge!
When any Tiger feels a twinge,
They’ll call on Brandon Inge.

KANSAS CITY

Tote that Bale, lift that Gload,
Another long year in KC?
Or a renaissance? These kids are beginning to be.

LOS ANGELES

K-Rod,
And Vlad the Impaler,
And a bunch of young pitchers hopping out of a trailer.

MINNESOTA

No cash for Johan or Torii,
But there’s money for Nathan—within reason—
Though he pitches just 70 innings a season.

NEW YORK STATE OF MIND

The Yankees won’t listen to reason!!
They’ll pull out their Wang
To open the season!!

OAKLAND

What’s that sound from the Street?
Is it Foulke music so sweet?
Oh, it’s Rich Harden’s shoulder, grinding like meat.

SEATTLE

Half the team has reached the big three-oh,
And aside from Ichiro,
There’s a lot of “don’t know.”

TAMPA BAY

They sent Longoria to Triple-A
To reduce his service time? Feh!
This franchise is still the pride of Mephistofele.

TEXAS

Trouble children, like Bradley and Hamilton,
And a pitching staff
Of no wheat and all chaff.

TORONTO

Toronto has Coats.
Maybe they’ll avoid
A cold April.

Posted 3/31/08

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C.C.

By Stuart Shea

Carsten C. Sabathia,
We haven’t seen the last of ya.
There’s still so much to see,
Since you weigh 253.

Posted 10/25/07 

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Jeff Kent, Courageous Dodger

by Stu Shea

“It’s hard to influence a big group. We’ve got some good kids on the team. Don’t get me wrong, please don’t misinterpret my impressions. [But] it’s hard to translate experience. I don’t know why they don’t get it.
“It’s close to the end of the season. And a career for me, too. I’m running out of time. A lot of kids in here, they don’t understand that…and it’s hard to get them to understand that because they’ve haven’t been there. So there lies some frustration.”

–Jeff Kent, 9/21/07

Jeff Kent, second base for the Dodgers,
Is defending his fellow old codgers.

Says the kids don’t play right—
Most are black, and he’s white.

Got that? Roger. Kent’s a mean-spirited, selfish racist who just wants to get his name in the papers and doesn’t care about the mess he leaves behind, especially if it makes him look good and other people look bad.

Posted 10/18/07

 

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After Tinker and Evers…

By Stuart Shea

It’s been 100 years,
Since we’ve had the last dance.
After Tinker and Evers,
We had no Chance.

Gabby was silent and
Sosa splintered, corked like his bat,
Imagine that!
Santo, Jenkins, Billy, Ernie, Hack…
No series, no deposit, no return,
No going back.
100 years.
Even the great Cavaretta caved before the “curse.”
All the tears,
All the bad to worse, even before Michael Wuertz.

It is no curse of goat, owner, or drug,
No virus or flu bug,
But rather an indictment of all things Chicago,
Our own luck, our character, our fate.
Our go-go no-show ego.

47th St. to downtown,
North side to Oak Park,
Chatham, Maxwell Street.
(Remember that?)
Our culture is picked, chopped, and reaped by those in London, New York, Ibiza, Amsterdam, just like at each harvest time, when our baseball hopes disappear.

Our writers ignored, ripped off, marginalized, and shunted,
House music stolen and bastardized,
The blues Anglicized,
Our schools vandalized,
Lottery money wasted and schools go begging,
Our leaders prostituted before mobsters, construction racketeers, the hospitality industry.
We are the breadbasket of America, yet many go hungry.

Tonight, all we ask is a damn World Series.
All we want is a fair shake from God,
From baseball.
That’s all.
But the fiefdom of the game has screwed us.

Peter Ueberroth,
Commissioner en route to Presidency,
Moved our third home game to San Diego in ’84,
Licking the feet of NBC, the television robber barons.

Well, I haven’t forgotten, you lying scoundrel.
Bully. King of Creeps, factotum for self-anointed kings.
With your ambition for greater things,
Big business cudgel,
Apologist.
Forced lights on us in ’88, with
Blackmail to fans and bribes to local government,

And we were so innocent back then
To think it was just a simple question of right or wrong.
Not for long.
As not to see that it was no longer our game,
If indeed if it ever was.
Free market for owners, free agency for players,
Keep moving, folks,
Nothing free here.

So our heroes, our bought and rented men
Play for glory, applause, salary,
Because it’s their job.

Sure, they wear Chicago hats,
But they don’t live here.
Not like in the old days when players would drink with fans at Ray’s,
Dick Selma buying the house a round,
Ron Santo living off Berteau Avenue,
Glenn Beckert, too,
Ernie and Billy commuting from Chatham.
Even Dave Martinez lived in Roselle.
So what the hell.

Once again, our resources—our attention, our time, our intention, our good will, our money—go out of town.

We root, root, root not for our heroes,
But for ourselves, our egos,
Our own meager sense of worth,
Which we think will be conferred onto us by
Rich guys in pinstripe suits
Beating other rich guys in pinstripe suits,
Just like at the Stock Exchange.

Posted 10/8/07. 

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O Crap

by Stu Shea

Though their legacy is royal and their ballpark always fine,
It’s been a rocky season for the Baltimore nine.
Their loudest fan passed away, the manager was fired,
And even longtime fans are getting tired.
Drug rumors dog the clubhouse; they lost 30-3;
And they’ve been no-hit by a Red Sox rookie.
One more losing year and small crowds at the park,
This franchise walks, blindfolded, in the dark.
As long as Peter Angelos renews his owner’s plates,
The devastation won’t abate.

Posted 10/4/07