by Rollin Lynde Hartt
Lives there a man with soul so dead
But he unto himself has said,
“My grandmother shall die today,
And I’ll go see the Giants play”?
Taken from Crazy ’08 by Cait Murphy.
Jason and the Golden Thong
by Hart Seely
On days when drives are flying long,
And pitchers wonder what’s gone wrong?
The Bronx winds sing this joyous song:
“Giambi’s in his golden thong!”
Each swing reveals Giambi’s might,
Each wince inspires his mates to fight,
They know too well his painful plight:
One ball hangs left, one ball hangs right.
He leads the veteran team attack,
True courage, he shall never lack!
He eyes the pitch, then takes his whack
As golden threads ascend his crack.
Then comes the time when life turns wrong,
When wins grow short, and losses long,
And Bronx winds sing their saddest song:
“Giambi’s lost his golden thong!”
Hart Seely is the author of the hilarious Mother Goose Goes to Washington, as well as Oh Holy Cow: The Selected Verse of Phil Rizzuto, newly released in a 15th-anniversary edition. He often hangs around the Yankee website, It is High, It is Far, It is….caught, offering tasteful and constructive comments to management and players alike.
Posted 5/21/08.
I Want to Go Home
By Stuart Shea
Plutocrats were once the Detroit ideal.
Henry Ford and William Briggs
Living high in posh digs
While Ty Cobb rented a house during the season
In a middle-class hood.
When the city started to “change”
And white people moved out,
Somehow it was all the fault of those left behind.
Out of sight, out of mind
For those in Grosse Point and Warren
Who’d come into town a few times a year,
(Of course on Opening Day, where they’d still cheer
For Bunning, Kaline, Cash, Lary,
Willie Horton.)
When the car makers misread the market and made more gas-guzzlers,
One of the puzzlers was apportioning blame
Away from the carpetbaggers, shills, morons, and thieves
And onto the wage-slaves and winos
And others who remained in the city
Without trust funds, mobility,
Pedigree, or nobility.
The Lions upgraded to an oversized Tupperware tub in Pontiac
And the Pistons shuffled to Auburn Hills
But at least the Tigers stayed and played at Michigan and Trumbull
The ballpark half-full
And Ernie Harwell perched above home plate
Telling tales of Sweet Lou and Tram and Senor Smoke
While the city learned to choke on its own exhaust
And the bums sat, cracked and sauced,
In fine brick slums held together by a paste of broken windows and fatherless children.
Now the old ballpark sits, forgotten and overgrown,
Tigers overrun by dandelions.
Structure and seats rusted, torn to chunks,
At the hands of Ilitch raped and scorned,
But mourned
By the lower-level bleacher drunks stuck in hell
And imprisoned by the ghost of Charlie Maxwell.
Jorge Posada: A Poem of Love
by Hart Seely
The whole league fears our great armada,
Contenders in each year’s regatta.
But now it’s fear, we got a lotta,
Adrift without Jorge Posada.
We always reach that upper strata
And chase The Biggest Enchilada.
But now we’re hopeless: nothing, nada.
That’s life without Jorge Posada.
Great glory? We shall never win it,
If forced to send out Kelly Stinnett.
There is no chance with Sal Fasano,
If Jorge’s down, like Carl Pavano.
I’d rather use than Mike Piazza
Some cashier from a K Mart plaza,
Our only power would be solar,
If batting sixth we use Chad Moeller.
The fans won’t come to our arena
To watch us with Jose Molina.
Our chances shall be rank and smelly,
The day we sign Doug Mirabelli.
It brings great pain for me to say,
We’re even thin at Triple A.
And we will watch with great dismay,
Until we see our man… Jorge.
Posted 5/6/08
Hart Seely is the author of the hilarious Mother Goose Goes to Washington, as well as Oh Holy Cow: The Selected Verse of Phil Rizzuto, newly released in a 15th-anniversary edition. He often hangs around the Yankee website, It is High, It is Far, It is….caught, offering tasteful and constructive comments to management and players alike.
What Would Barry Do?
By Lou Carlozo
Oh Barry Bonds! Ye baseball god!
Thanks to thy steroid brew.
So brothers, sisters, ask yourselves:
What Would Barry Do?
If asked to take the role of Scrooge
From off the dusty shelf,
Quoth Barry, “Let’s rewrite the script.
Tiny Tim can screw himself.”
If we elect Bonds president,
No press conference, woo hoo!
Just bats for the reporters heads–
Now that takes balls to do!
Should Bonds become a doctor?
Surely he deserves a shot,
And so would all his patients:
“Get the steroids while they’re hot!”
Now Barry’s with Paul Simon,
Off to write a song or two.
“Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?
I wanna beat the shit outta you.”
So sing no song of Ernie Banks,
Al Kaline or Rod Carew–
They hold no light to Barry Bonds
(Not that they’d’ve wanted to).
‘Tis better to remain a class act
On the field, and off it too,
Or break a record honestly,
Something Barry cannot do.
Oh Barry Bonds! Ye baseball chump!
Your case stinks like a zoo.
We’ll change your name to “Bail” Bonds
When the charges stick to you.
Lou Carlozo is a Chicago Tribune staff writer and producer of the syndicated radio baseball talk show “Diamond Gems,” hosted by George Castle and Les Grobstein. He also produced “We’re Not Gonna Change It,” the song that won the Chicago-Sun Times’ contest imploring Sam Zell not to rename Wrigley Field. Hear the song at myspace.com/loucarlozo.
Posted 4/24/08