Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
By Stu Shea
Hunter Pence is intense
When he climbs the fence
Or knocks a high fastball right out of its stents.
The ‘Stros really stink
But already fans think
That Pence is the way to get out of the drink.
Without Hunter Pence
They’d fold up their tents—
Sans Pence, Houston’s Astros ain’t worth but two cents.
Posted 9/11/2007.
By Stuart Shea
Wild Bill Hagy was an Orioles fan,
Looked like most any other big man,
Belly hanging low over loose blue jeans,
Full of cold beer and likewise of beans.
Back in the days ‘fore Camden Yards,
When the orange-clad O’s held all the cards,
Wild Bill Hagy was a half-crazed horse
Who pawed his ground as a cheerleading force.
He stood on the dugout during each game
And spelled out “Orioles” with his mighty frame.
Every O’s fan from near and far
Watched Wild Bill—he became a star.
The years rolled on and the O’s declined,
They left Memorial for a new state of mind.
Hagy didn’t lead cheers at the new park,
The team’s new owners didn’t like that spark.
And now he’s gone, though memories hold,
Of the glorious days of Orioles old,
Of Weaver and Murray, Palmer and Cal,
Dempsey, Roenicke, Pat Kelly, and Al.
Gimme an H!
Gimme an A!
Gimme a G!
Gimme a Y!
What’s that spell?
Posted 8/29/2007
By Stu Shea
Sox lose,
More blues.
‘pen sucks,
Big bucks.
Old team,
Fans scream.
Fire Ken,
Start again.
Oz stays,
He’s crazed.
Congratulations.
You have the record, Barry.
I still admire you.
Sgt. Vladimir is waiting on the bench
To use his bat to dig a six-inch trench
So he can swing at pitches
He otherwise can’t reach
Using bats, or brooms, or switches
Kicking up both dirt and beach.
Sgt. Vladimir is hacking at the ball
And driving that hard sinker to the wall.
He hit it off his shoe tops
And drove in a pair of runs.
He’s more focused than a Cyclops,
And he’s having much more fun.