Browse all poems and songs in the 'Pure doggerel' Category


From Gonfalon to Woebegone

by James Finn Garner

From gonfalon
To woebegone
KC fans are crying like their fountain
That James Shields
A smorgasbord yields?
No surprise (save Joe Buck) to anyone.

The Giant hill ace
Has a post-season ERA
So small as to be microscopic
While it’s time for “Big Game”
To drop the nickname
And cancel meetings for that MLB biopic.

 



Who Woulda Thunk?

by Stephen Jones

The Giants are flirting with destiny,
The Royals are a star-crossed team –
Yet neither got the goodwill scrutiny
In Vegas, where hope is but a dream.

Blind Vegas wrote reams
Of its number streams,
The odds which it put down on paper,
But no one, it seems,
Trusted these two teams
To play for it all in October.

 



Wacha-Mole

By Stuart Shea

Matheny hoped for damage control
As each reliever dug a hole.
Choate was awful, Maness ehh,
Rosenthal wild, Martinez bleh.

Who is left to call on, then?
Wacha’s down there, in the pen…
He hasn’t pitched for several weeks,
But nothing’s left that doesn’t leak.

See one problem, cause another–
That’s how bullpens work, my brother.
How to fix this bullpen bleed?
Get a bigger lead.

 



From the Back of the Room

by Stephen Jones

Hey, know-all’s — you once confidently said
The World Series this year is for the birds.
But surprise . . . your Cardinals and Orioles
Have flown south in avian farewell.

You may analyse ’til you are blue,
But that old adage, it still holds true:
Pitching, not hitting, wins in postseason.
The Giants, the Royals have this in legion.

 



Bye-Bye, Birdie

by Stephen Jones

The Oriole got stuffed.
Mounted, on the shelf
By sweeping Royal decree . . .
It was a KC taxidermy.

 

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Copyright 2007 Bardball.