Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
Sgt. Vladimir is waiting on the bench
To use his bat to dig a six-inch trench
So he can swing at pitches
He otherwise can’t reach
Using bats, or brooms, or switches
Kicking up both dirt and beach.
Sgt. Vladimir is hacking at the ball
And driving that hard sinker to the wall.
He hit it off his shoe tops
And drove in a pair of runs.
He’s more focused than a Cyclops,
And he’s having much more fun.
Goose Gossage,
Goose Gossage,
You are your own Bossage,
You have your own mitt that you sign and Embossage.
Goose Gossage,
Goose Gossage,
You always will Flossage,
Your round rolling stone will ne’er gather no Mossage.
Goose Gossage,
Goose Gossage,
You boot up with DOSsage,
You always predict the results of coin Tossage.
Goose Gossage,
Goose Gossage,
Your car drives with Nossage,
And you play like you dance, like the winged Bob Fossage.
(Sandy’s site, with his comedy teammates: Schadenfreude.net)
Posted 8/3/07
Farnsworth, Myers, Proctor: O, doctor.
How low can our spirits go?
We’re leading by nine in the last of the sixth.
And we’ll probably have to use Mo.
Farnsworth, Myers, Proctor, O, doctor.
Somebody pass me the Drano.
Our nine-run lead is now down to two.
And, O, God! Here comes Vizcaino.
(Hart’s site: It is High, It is Far, It is…caught)
Posted 8/1/07
The time is here that we’ve all come to dread,
The worst possible inning if you root for the Red.
It makes leads disappear, because no lead is safe
When our bullpen appears in the inning called eighth.
No lead is safe, no lead is secure
When our bulls begin spreading their style of manure,
So when you’re done stretching from inning number seven,
Never forget that they’re not sent from heaven.
When the seventh is over you may start to think,
“What now shall we do? Let’s just start to drink.”
BOHICA, my friends, will be with us soon,
And God help us all if we have a full moon.
So when that time is nigh and we have much to fear,
Pray very hard, then reach for more beer.
Please don’t do something to make us spew hate
When the Reds take the field in the Dreaded Eighth.
Posted 7/27/07
by James Finn Garner
When Kenny Williams told Maggs
To pack up his bags,
Hinting grit wasn’t one of his talents,
Kenny hadn’t the notion
That he’d set in motion
An era of Motown Magg-nificence.
Magglio got maligned
but later was signed
By Tiger whiz David Dombrowski.
Now he’s hitting like Gehrig,
While the White Sox are staring
over their shoulders, worried ’bout Kansas City.
Posted 7/25/07