Roy White, you did all right.
Jim Ray Hart, you played your part.
Willie Mays, those were the days!
Matty Alou, is it really true?

Duke Sims, you climbed on limbs.
Sparky Lyle, you made us smile.
Horace Clarke, you jumped the shark.
Matty Alou, we must bid adieu?

Harvey Kuenn, you made the scene.
Juan Marichal, you gave ‘em hell.
Steve Blass, let’s raise a glass!
Matty Alou, we’ll remember you.

Hart Seely’s new book, The Juju Rules: Or How to Win Ballgames From Your Couch, will be published by Houghton Mifflin in time for Opening Day 2012.  You can pre-order it from Amazon at this link.

McCarver was a Cardinal
We’re taught to believe
He caught Bob Gibson
For his thumb he still grieves

Yet as an announcer
No praise for the Cards, just bashes
By omission or commission
The man’s head’s up his asses.

Alan is a sociology professor at Central Michigan University.

The Rangers lay their popguns down
Nolan Ryan sports a frown
The Cardinals new life have found
When Mr. Freese comes to town

The Texas bullpen crashes down
Nelson Cruz fields like a clown
The seat of Mark Lowe’s pants turns brown
When Mr. Freese comes to town

Bud Selig puts away the crown
Ol’ Dallas? One more cowtown
We all get a Game 7 showdown
When Mr. Freese comes to town

Dearest Mary,

Mine eyes have seen the stresses
of the team far back in June;
of a long goatee brought in to save
but failing far too soon.

Four score and one game makes a half,
and both sides of the all-star break
our men did try their best, yet
good progress they could not make.

Out went McClellan; in came Grant
to help us win the day,
while Sherman (twenty-nine) burned the South
and turned the tide our way.

And now, my dear, I’ve decided that
to bring Cardinal nation together I’ve got
to give command of the ball, at the very end,
to the able Ulysses S. Motte.

Prayerfully yours,

Abe

It’s been a good year,
And we still have beer.
Prince may be gone,
But our buzz is still on.

Like a monkey on a hurdy-gurdy
Jumps Papa Grande Valverde

As jumbled as a keyboard QWERTY
He gets batters to watch the birdie,
Then with control most absurd, he
Blows it by them, nice and purty.

His yellow glasses somewhat nerdy
Don’t match a gut profound and sturdy.
In interviews he’s somewhat wordy
(Though certainly no Krishnamurti)

Will his total saves reach twice 30?
Will the Motown squad get down and dirty?
With fickle hist’ry flirts he,
Our fireman Jose Valverde.

How could that squirrel
Send Roy Oswalt squirmin’?
Well, Cardinals eat seeds and
don’t hunt vermin.

He may look like Anthony Michael Hall,
But Hunter Pence can do it all.
Puts it over the right field wall
With the ugliest swing you ever …  sall.

All the network media dorks
Sing the praises of New York

They hate visiting places strange
Like Motown and the Texas Range

They’d rather crawl through Gotham sewers
Than watch the Snakes or Rays or Brewers.

They’re happy as a dog with bone
To stay in th’ Eastern Time Zone.

But Yankees pitching ain’t worth a lick.
The Phillies are my pick, in six.

When Jose Reyes won the title
it gave us pause to check his mettle.
Which body part did serve him best:
His heart, his biceps, or his ass?