Browse all poems and songs in the 'San Francisco Giants' Category


Bob Dylan’s 2017 Forecast: “With God on Cards’ Side”

By the Village Elliott

Oh, my game, it is baseball.
My home team’s the best,
The team that I root for,
Once league’s furthest west;
I’s taught and brought up where
Redbird fans reside,
Learn the St. Louis Cardinals
Have God on our side.

Learned the game from my father,
Local fan till last day.
Taught me, “Watch your team play, son,
Play the game the right way.”
Watched, rooted, and studied,
Played with own inner pride,
Like I learned as a Cards’ fan
With God on our side.

Have own Hall of Fame Roster
Bat with Redbirds on chest
Diz and Gibby hurled high heat
“Stan the Man’s” still our best
Slats, Pepper, Brock, Cha Cha
Curt Flood’s on-/off-field pride.
My team’s greats played the game right
With God on their side.

I attended first series,
Damn Yanks, ’64.
Teams split the first six games,
Each must win one game more.
Sat with Dad in the bleachers,
Where Mick’s last tater flied.
Final out celebrated
With God on our side.

Beat Damn Yanks for first title.
Old Pete was the gent,
Soon Lou and Babe payback,
In four games Cards are spent.
Split next two, early ’40s,
Wounded Damn Yankees’ pride,
Then they start counting dead boys
With God on their side.

After Second World War, boys,
BoSox dream Cards upend.
Later “Lonborg’s Champagne”
Drink “Impossible’s” end,
But post-Y2K,
Big Papi’s, Sox pride
Twice repay the Redbirds
With God on their side.

Oh, the record book tells it,
It tells it so well:



Heart’s Dear Memory

by the village Elliott

For Mirian Cepeda, d. 4/12/17

‘Tis a sad day for Jints’ family
Mirian has passed into history.
Mrs. Cha Cha, though passed,
Left her love that will last
In hearts filled with her dear memory.

 



Bob Dylan’s 2017 Forecast: “Subterranean Baseball Finance Blues”

by James Finn Garner

Rays are in the basement
Ain’t got the tin to spend
Braves are in a new tent
Paid for by the government
Oakland’s in the same boat
Should they stay? Should they go?
Big pay day’s in San Jose
But for now they’re gonna stay in East Bay

Look out kid
Ya done bin outbid
Owners cry the poor mouth, doin’ it again
Wanna build skyboxes to party with their rich friends
Some day you gotta stop but you don’t know when
Season ticket costs eleven grand, you only got ten . . .

 

 



Rogers Hornsby, Off-Season Poet

by Raphael Badagliacca

What do I do in Winter
When there’s no baseball
People want to know
Just one thing
I stare out the window
And wait for Spring.

 



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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