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


Scapegoated Roast

by the Village Elliott

For Mrs. O’Leary’ Cow and the 2016 World Champion Chicago Cubs

Mrs. O’Leary’s cow better hide:
Cubs fans now toddle down Near North Side,
Feeding schneid’s hungry ghost
With Burnt Scapegoat Cubs Roast;
Chitown’s hottest night since Old Town cried.

 



Watching the World Series from Dusseldorf

by Frank Thorwirth

At 6 to 6 the game was even
Rain delay, doubt in believing.
Go to sleep while eyes shut down?
Are you kidding me, clown?
A friend from Chicago on the phone,
What the f . . . Together we moan.
The 10th with only three more outs,
And believe it or not, no more doubts,
Hours away from Chicago’s North Side,
Sitting, standing awake, still with home pride.
It’s 5:38, it’s finally fixed,
Remember MEZ means “minus six”
Now we can go for an hour to bed,
with no more bad dreams —
The curse of the goat — it’s dead!

 



World Series Game Seven

by Hilary Barta

Birria for Everyone!

’Twas a plot that a lunatic wrote
With a knot firmly caught in his throat
Pop the bubbly, boys,
For the Cubs, make some noise
Took a lot, but we slaughtered the goat.



News from Chicago’s Far (Very Far) Northside

by Hilary Barta

Santo screams himself hoarse (Volume Eleven)
Seems his team has just forced a Game Seven
Angel Brickhouse is merry
Getting pickled is Caray
Banks just beams from, of course, baseball heaven.

 



To Prevent Premature Exits

by Hilary Barta

From Maddon’s big baggie of tricks,
Arrieta’s on tap for Game Six
For shocking the Tribe
Cubs doctors prescribe
Sluggo Schwarber, now back in the mix.

 

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Copyright 2007 Bardball.