Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
By Stuart Shea
DODGERS
What causes shadows
Gath’ring over Dodgertown?
Oh. It’s Manny’s hair.
DIAMONDBACKS
Risky tightrope walk—
Using Felipe Lopez
As a regular.
GIANTS
If it rained all year
S.F. would avoid losing
100 ballgames.
PADRES
No big stars, no hope
Dark days ahead for the fans
Despite bright Cali skies.
ROCKIES
Jeff Francis’ arm
Wilted like Boston lettuce
Left out far too long.
Posted 3/25/09
by JHB
Goodbye, Manuel Aristides,
At times we all were far too cruel,
But you had the grace to point both hands
While smilin’ like a fool.
They disparaged you in the Herald,
Made innuendoes in the Globe.
They chased you all around the Hub,
Caught in flashbulbs like a strobe.
And it seems to me you lived your life
With your dreadlocks in the wind,
Steppin’ quickly in the Monster
Just to take a whiz,
And you would have been our hero,
But you were just a kid.
Your time here ran out long before
Your legend ever did.
Manny being Manny’s tough,
The toughest role you ever played,
But your bat made you a superstar,
And pain’s the price you paid.
Even when you left,
The press still had too much to say.
All that Boston.com would comment
Was that Manny didn’t want the trade.
And it seems to me you lived your life
With your dreadlocks in the wind,
Catchin’ flies and givin’ high-fives
Before you’d throw it in,
And you would have been our hero,
But you were just a kid,
Your time here ran out long before
Your legend ever did.
Goodbye, Manuel Aristides,
Though I never knew you at all,
You had the feel to play left field,
Fielding caroms off the Wall.
Goodbye, Manuel Aristides,
From the young boy in a Monster Seat,
Who saw you as something not so infantile,
Maybe what he would like to be,
And it seems to me you lived your life
With your dreadlocks in the wind,
If the role was just too much to bear,
It’s not as if you sinned,
And you would have been our hero,
But you were just a kid,
Your time here ran out long before,
Your legend ever did.
Posted 9/10/08
By Stuart Shea
Being a Dodger used to mean something.
The blue, white and red,
An American team playing the game the right way.
Jackie, Newk, Campy, Junior Gilliam,
Duke Snider and Carl Furillo.
Drysdale and Sandy,
An integrated team in Brooklyn.
When did it start
To fall apart?
When O’Malley ripped out the borough’s heart
And took his business to California,
Greedy and mean,
Displacing locals living in the ravine?
My dad, a Dodgers fan since the 30s,
Watched his team go from Wills, Davis, and Fairly
To Bob Bailor and Jack Fimple–
It was almost that simple.
He swore off the team in 1985
When they brought up some gawky-looking flotsam pitcher named Tom Brennan
Who was just trying to survive.
He raised his leg like a flamingo
And fluttered junk toward the plate.
“That’s not a Dodger,” Dad said,
And he was right. The old team was dead.
There was Gibson’s homer in 1989,
A thrilling victory, a special time,
For a team that wasn’t very good,
But had magic and Orel.
Then Peter O’Malley sold the club to Fox,
Who treated the franchise like a TV show,
Jumping the shark with grumps like Gary Sheffield,
Raul Mondesi, Kevin Brown, Chan Ho Park,
Four managers in five years wandering in the dark
And winning no titles until Frank McCourt bought in.
Now, they’re just another team,
Trading their magic beans
For vets like Nomar, Andruw,
And the worst: Manny Being Manny.
What does it mean to be a Dodger
When a jaker and malcontent
Can wear the same colors as Jackie?
That’s not what his example meant.
Posted 8/27/08
by JHB
The legend lives on, from Hoyt Wilhelm on down,
Of the trick pitch they all call the knuckler.
The pitch, it is said, leaves the catchers for dead,
Diving wildly with no hope for succor.
A gentleman fine, wearing number 49,
Came to Boston by way of the Pirates.
He struck batters out but he made catchers shout
‘Cept for one who had gorged carbohydrates.
Mirabelli’s the pride of the Faithful who fly
Cross the nation to see foes confounded.
As good catchers go, he was bigger than most,
With a butt and a belly well rounded.
Concluding some time with the Giants to find
They had sold him right off to the Rangers,
But Hatteburg and Tek found their stats were a wreck
And Duquette was aware of the dangers.
The voice on the phone made a tattletale drone,
And for Dougie they demanded Duchscherer.
And every man knew, as the GM did, too,
‘Twas a swap that smelled lots like manure.
But the trade it was made, and Doug wasn’t afraid
When the pitches of Wakefield came floating,
But after the game with complete lack of shame,
Dougie pigged out until he was bloating.
When the clubhouse spread came, the old cook was ashamed,
Saying, “Dougie, it’s all I can feed ya.”
At seven P.M., an old floorboard caved in.
He said, “Dougie, it’s been good to know ya.”
The Sox got Josh Bard, but the job was too hard,
So they flew Dougie from San Diego.
With state troopers he came, just in time for the game,
Catching knuckleballs, looking like Play-Doh.
Does anyone know where the love of God goes
When the years turn the muscles to blubber?
The Faithful all say he’d have played to this day
Were his belly not soft as foam rubber.
Come 2008, Kevin Cash looked so great
Rumors spread across all Red Sox Nation.
On the thirteenth of March, Tito spoke the words harsh,
“The right thing for the organization.”
‘Cause flabby flesh hangs, despite Series rings
When beer and not ice tea’s a passion.
If you chug Anchor Steams like a bush leaguer’s dreams,
Your waistline will be out of fashion
And farther below the belt, don’t you know,
Takes the fat that won’t fit in the belly,
And the muscle tone goes, as the old-timers know,
‘Til the wreck of the Doug Mirabelli.
In a musty beerhall in Kenmore they prayed
And from Back Bay to Rome and New Delhi
The church bells did chime, all of 28 times
For the number of Doug Mirabelli.
The legend lives on, from Hoyt Wilhelm on down,
Now to Timmay and Doug’s fame accruing.
Great catches and blocks while wearing Red Sox.
‘Twas his weight that became his undoing.
Barry Bonds, Barry Bonds,
Won’t someone please buy Barry Bonds?
The burly man-child at 44
Surely can give something more.
While the Rangers could use his mighty bat,
Texas must have a big enough hat.
In Minnesota he could deliver the goods,
And spend days off prowling the woods.
In New York, the powerful media glare
Would show if there’s any personality there.
Washington would enjoy spinning turnstiles,
And be handy for the start of his perjury trial.
It’s time to move to make the playoffs this year.
Come on! He can give SOMEONE a shot in the rear!
Posted 8/18/08