Browse all poems and songs in the 'Washington Nationals' Category


That Gallant Pirate Crew

by James Francis Burke

From the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, October 16, 1925, when the Pirates vanquished the Senators after being down 3-1 in the World Series.

Were it not for Prohibition,
Which has made the country dry,
I’d fill a wine glass brimming
And lift it toward the sky
And drink a royal bumper —
In fact, I’d make it two —
To good old Bill McKechnie
And his gallant Pirate crew.

But wine is gone forever —
At least, that’s what I hear,
And hence a thirsty poet
Can only stand and cheer
For those whose names are written
‘Mid the skies eternal blue:
The names of Barney Dreyfus
And his gallant Pirate crew.

The Capital’s in mourning,
But the nation’s all arrayed
In the colors of the rainbow
Whose bright hues never fade.
For the Buccaneers are victors —
One can hardly think it’s true —
So here’s to Bill and Barney
And their gallant Pirate crew.

The dear old slow Potomac’s
Filled with tears from shore to shore;
The stately public buildings
Have crepe on every door;
While diplomats and statesmen
Have nothing left to do
But envy good old Pittsburgh
And her gallant Pirate crew.

But let’s be fair, my comrades,
And give the “Nats” their due:
They played the game like heroes,
Like sportsmen good and true.
And here’s a fan’s confession,
A tip twixt me and you:
It was not summer picnic
For our gallant Pirate crew.

 



Harper/Strickland

by Stephen Jones

Baseball’s a game of skill;
That’s what we all know.
It’s not the NFL,
Where headhunting’s bought and sold.

But what about history
and baseball’s unwritten rule?
When a batter’s tagged a pitcher twice,
What’s a hurler to do?

As a sniper with a (maybe) grudge,
Hunter Strickland thought he had the pip:
He’d aim, then fire. He’d drill Bryce Harper
Dead-on in the hip,

And as Bryce Harper later said,
“At least he wasn’t aiming at my head”
(Although some medicos might concur:
His brains are definitely not up there).

No surprise, Harper charged the mound
And gave Strickland some punches.
Strickland obliged him back, and in the end
It was like a battle of dunces.

When the smoke clears, MLB will admister
Band-Aid punishment to fit the crime:
Each will pay a chunk of change
And probably serve some time.

Just don’t expect MLB
To solve its unseen baggage.
Afterall, like in hockey,
This stuff is good green cabbage.

 



Nat Nice

by Jim Siergey

The only way Adam Eaton
could ever be beaten
was catching his cleat in
the dirt.
That hurt.

 



Presidential Lox

by James Finn Garner

It’s tradition on Opening Day:
The Prez puts the first ball in play,
But with his miniscule mitts,
The Donald just quits
And tweets, “Baseball’s for losers anyway.”

 



Washington’s 7th Inning Stretch (too far)

by Raphael Badagliacca

Here’s what I say
Crime doesn’t always pay
Harper stole a base
and Murphy’s hot bat
All in the same play

Durocher tells this story
How Mays hit a ball
High up off the wall
But stopped at first
And watched the ball fall
So McCovey who hit next
Could hit one over the wall

 

Raphael Badagliacca is the author of The Yogi Poems and Fathers Day.

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