Browse all poems and songs in the 'St. Louis Cardinals' Category


“Stop Your Cubbing”

by Alan P. Rudy

(or A Ballad of Faux-Bravado)
With Apologies to Ray Davies, and to Chrissy Hinde

It is time for you to stop all of your Cubbing
Yes, it’s time for you to stop all of your Cubbing, oh oh oh
There’s one thing you gotta do
To make wins still come true
Gotta stop Cubbing now
Yeah, yeah, stop it, stop it

It is time for Carpenter, instead of Castro,
Yes, it’s time for Molina, and not Castillo, oh oh oh
There’s one thing you gotta do
To make wins still come true
Gotta stop Cubbing now
Yeah, yeah, stop it, stop it

Each tear that falls because of Jackson,
Ross, Lake, or Strop
And leftovers like Phil Coke…
It’s ‘cuz your Cubbing!

It is time for Lynn and Wacha, instead of Lester
Yes, it’s time for even Kozma, not Herrera, oh oh oh
There’s one thing you gotta do
To make wins still come true
Gotta stop Cubbing now
Yeah, yeah, stop it, stop it

There’s one thing you gotta do,
Trade us Bryant, and Soler, too
And there’s one thing you gotta know
We’re nervous, don’t you know
Gotta love the Cards
Yeah, yeah, start it, start it

 



Yadi

by Alan P. Rudy

With apologies to Joyce, but not Billy, Kilmer

I think that I shall never see,
A poem lovely as Yadi.

Yadi whose potent arm at rest,
Ceases the runner’s speedy best;

Yadi who chooses signs all day,
Leaving the hitter’s bats astray;

Yadi whose knees through wear and tear,
May platoon at first in late career;

Upon whose neck ink is lain;
And forearm rose he has attained.

Doggerel’s made by fools like me,
But Yadi amazes all who see.

 



National League Central 2015 Spring Training Haiku

By Stuart Shea

Cubs
A Sure Thing is not
called “A Sure Thing” unless it
hasn’t happened yet

Reds
Jason Marquis back?
Surely this is a sign that
the world is ending.

Brewers
For one final spring,
Aramis Ramirez tries
to avoid diving

Pirates
Could Clint Hurdle
be the Bucs’ final hurdle
to winning a title?

Cardinals
Some with a fresh start
Will soar higher than they could
Down in the southland

 



A Cards Fan, All but Alone in Michigan, Worries

by Alan P. Rudy

Matheny loves vets, it is ever so clear,
But picking up Masterson was certainly queer.
So, uh, now Lackey! who used to strike fear,
But these days  looks irked and needs him a beer.

The death of Taveras, and Heyward’s in right
To force Grichuk to fight for a spot every night,
While Wacha and Jaime return to the fight
Just in time — I tell you, the division’s a fright!

 

A little boy in St. Louis for the three runs at the World Series in the 1960s, Alan’s love of the Cardinals was cemented by the nightmare of moving to Mets territory in ’69. These days he’s married to a Cards fan he met in the land of the Giants, is raising two ball-playing boys with hair longer than Ted Simmons ever had, and teaches Sociology at Central Michigan University.



True Heart of a Champion

by the Village Elliott

Dedicated to Johnny Kuenn, Curt Flood, Bob Gibson and the 1964 World Champion St. Louis Cardinals. Written in 2005.

Yo, Chief, stop the presses,
The Red Sox successes
Worth an “Extra” to proudly proclaim,
Nigh a century’s passed
Since we last topped our mast-
Head with “Sox Win Final Series Game!”
Put the champagne to chill
Next to Ted’s head, he will
Then defrost, tip his cap, drink a toast,
To Aught-Four edition
Of BoSox Tradition;
“We swept Out ‘Curse of Babe,’” they can boast.

To get rid of their angst,
They swept back the Yanks,
Then swept Cards, their Series nemesis,
Who beat Sox half the four
They’ve played, lost since “Babe Swore;”
Sweeping Birdies adds greatly to bliss!
Yes, Sox swept my Redbirds
Whose play evokes these words:
“Cards played like all-time worst Series team.”
And though they did not quit,
Were never quite in it;
The World Series sweep felt quite extreme!

I salute the Red Sox
For destroying their “Pox,”
In a manner befitting their Curse,
But before they grow smug,
And relapse with their “Bug,”
Here is my opinion, cast in verse:
It’s now a new season,
Each team has its reason
To think maybe this might be their year,
While every team’s fans
Are now making fall plans
To partake of team’s “World Series Cheer!”

I recall Connie Mack,
When Al Simmons came back,
The next spring, after winning bat title:
“To be ‘True Champion,’
You must win second one.
Defending your crown, this is vital!”
“I believe that I shall,”
Replied Bucket-Foot Al,
And, indeed, as bat champ, did repeat.
So, if “Champions: True,”
What the BoSox must do
Is again avoid last game defeat.

I would be most remiss,
If I didn’t quote this,
‘bout Bob Gibson’s last World Series start:
When Cards’ bubble went bust,
Gibby repaid the trust
Of ex-skipper’s “Commitment to Heart:”
“Curt Flood caught too many
For me to say any-
Thing but I’m the one whose pitch was grooved!”
“Upstairs,” Johnny Keane smiled
When the Akasha filed:
The “True Heart of a Champ” has been proved!

Please, remember th’ advice
Of poet Grantland Rice:
“The Intangibles are paramount!
If ‘True Heart’ leads the way,
Every game that you play,
Then the ‘Final Score’ ends in your count.”
Way back when the Romans
Hit “Homers in Gloamins,”
Mare Nostrum sun-fielded their portal,
So, no matter how high,
One may rise in the sky,
Remember that we are but mortal!

Postscript:

Two years on: How ‘bout that!
Wearing my Redbirds hat,
For Game Five, when my Cardinals won,
When last out recorded,
Felt my Faith rewarded,
The Cards could be next “True Champion!”

One Year On:

The next season, Cards fold.
Off-field drama grew old.
Birdies fail ere they make playoffs,
But the Red Sox won crown,
Adding to team’s renown
For astute player movement payoffs.

 

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Copyright 2007 Bardball.