Browse all poems and songs in the 'Chicago Cubs' Category

The Pursuit of Happ-iness

by James Finn Garner

Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap!
That’s the sound of Ian Happ
He takes his bat and with a slap
Hits that ball all over the map

Scorecard keepers can never nap
If there’s a chance that Ian mayhap
Knock the pill into the gap
He makes me happy! Happ! Happ! Happ!


Elegy in a West Side Ball Park

by Ring Lardner

Published in the Chicago Tribune on April 20, 1916, as a tribute to West Side Grounds on the same day the Chicago Cubs played their first game at Weeghman Field.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight.
Save for the chatter of the laboring folk
Returning to their hovels for the night,
All is still at Taylor, Lincoln, Wood and Polk.
Beneath this aged roof, this grandstand’s shade,
Where peanut shucks lie in a mold’ring heap,
Where show the stains of pop and lemonade,
The Cub bugs used to cheer and groan and weep.


Facts of Whiff

By Michael X. Ferraro

Poor “Country” Joe West seems to be in a daze–
He spent Sunday night punching 48 K’s.

Over 18 innings, the swings and misses
Multiplied at Wrigley like Kiss-Cam kisses.

Twenty-two Yankees and 26 more Cubs
Trudged back to their bench, dragging unsullied clubs.

For the home plate ump, ’twas a six-hour shift,
A front-row seat to see sluggers get whiffed.

Schwarber and Bryant and Rizzo and Russell,
Each fanned thrice apiece, with nary a tussle,

But there was one Yank who took more fruitless licks:
A Golden Sombrero went to Aaron Hicks.

Two separate relievers each struck out the side.
Were both line-ups allergic to the horsehide?

Fifteen different pitchers in all took the mound,
And each hurler’s heart was warmed by the sound

Of the man in blue bellowing “Steee-rike Three,”
Setting a new record for the MLB.


Yankees 5, Cubs 4

by Stephen Jones

48 strikeouts
18-inning marathon
Yankees outlast Cubs


Bob Dylan’s 2017 Forecast: “It’s the Card’s Reign’s A-Gonna Fall

by Jim Siergey

Oh, where have you gone, my blue-capped chumps?
Oh, where have you gone, you darling crumb bums?
You’ve stumbled and cried for ten musty decades
You’ve choked and you’ve tripped in lieu of sweet vict’ry
(But) You’ve shaped up your farm teams the several last seasons
You’ve beat us by using our very own game plan
You’ve put ten thousand miles away from Cubs’ hist’ry

And it’s the Card’s, and it’s the Card’s, it’s the Card’s,
and it’s the Card’s
And it’s the Card’s reign’s a-gonna fall!


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Copyright 2007 Bardball.