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


Roger Angell Needs His Sleep!

by James Finn Garner

Loitering near history’s portals,
The aces proved to be mere mortals
And all the vaunted firemen
Sprinkled gas again and again.
No margin safe, no lead secure.
“Mighty Bregman”? Why not, sure!
Houston’s muggy, the balls are juiced
Hitters snort antler of moose.

Whate’er excuse, my answer remains:
Baseball is the greatest game.

 



Over-Managers Wanted

by Raphael Badagliacca

Seeking applicants
Who are mystical
About everything statistical.
Ability to count
A major prerequisite.
So is inability
To just patiently sit.
At critical moments
Must promise not to look
At the guy on the mound.
Go instead by the book.
Need a quick hook.

 



Whiskers Like Wrigley

by Jim Siergey

This concept, though weird,
causes me trouble:
If a ball gets tossed in
Or merely lost in
Justin Turner’s beard,
Is it a ground rule double?

 



Getting His Licks In

by James Finn Garner

Does it matter that
Yasiel Puig licks his bat?
Something, I mean,
Apart from hygiene?
Is it nerves? Is it taste?
An act done in haste?
When speculation’s void,
Ask Sigmund Freud.

 



Rue Confessions

by James Finn Garner

It’s time for apple picking
I need to clean the gutters
Might fix that drawer that’s sticking
Closet mess gives me shudders

Books to read, letters to pen,
Chores too numerous to name
I’d trade all this, plus more again
If I could watch another game.

 

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Copyright 2007 Bardball.