By Stuart Shea
Houston drafted a pitcher named Aiken
Then said he was damaged, though his elbow ain’t achin’.
No one agreed on appropriate bacon,
Makin’ non-achin’ Aiken’s a special deal-breakin’.
By Stuart Shea
This George Springer–
A real humdinger,
But for all we know
He’s not much of a singer.
by Michael X. Ferraro
Giancarlo, when I approached,
Via soft-serve toss of a coach
I foolishly said, “Let’s be friends!”
But instead I now have the bends.
As I rocket o’er Target Field,
McCutcheon gasps and Gordon squealed.
My path now is parabolic
Forget ‘roids– are you bionic?
Mr. Stanton, I hold no grudge.
I’m a baseball, not a judge.
The fans swoon like they’ve seen Kirby
as I leave this Home Run Derby.
By Hugh Encrye
Played the “unwritten rules” right,
Grooved the Captain a pitch to hit,
Then found himself in a world of trouble.
The greatest hitter of our era.
Pitch the pill behind his back
And still he’ll give that ball a whack.
Didn’t hit one out,
But a double and a triple
by R J Lesch
The All-Star Game is happening tonight.
Now, usually I mock this whole parade.
It ought to be exciting, big, and bright,
but TV makes it worse than a charade.
The pageantry is tedious when viewed
on television narrated by hacks
on Fox who, let’s just say, are not imbued
with any grasp of poetry or facts.
But this time, I’ll be there! Up in the stands!
I won’t hear Joe Buck jabber something lame.
No sitcom star close-ups, no gimmick cams.
Just baseball. Pageant, sure, but still, a game!
No mockery from me tonight? We’ll see.
But driven by the game, and not TV.