Browse all poems and songs in the 'Songs and Parodies' Category


Bob Dylan’s 2017 Forecast: “Sale, Baby, Sale”

by James Finn Garner

Sale, baby, Sale
Flail at the heat he’s gonna bring
Sale, baby, Sale
Pitch the Sox to a Series ring

Don’t care that Fenway’s a hitters’ park
Dave Dombrowski’s set to make his mark
Lots of lefties pitching for this team
Lots of taters hit into the green

Sale, baby, Sale
Flail at the heat he’s gonna bring
Sale, baby, Sale
Pitch the Sox to a Series ring

With Benintendi, Bogaerts, Mookie Betts,
Faithful bean-eaters might forget
That choke in Cleveland in the first round
They’ll still come out–big college town

Sale, baby, Sale
Flail at the heat he’s gonna bring
Sale, baby, Sale
Pitch the Sox to a Series ring

 



Bob Dylan’s 2017 Forecast: “The Tribe’s Luck Ain’t A-Changin'”

by Lou Carlozo

O come all ye Clevelanders, where e’er ye may roam
And admit that another World Series was blown
Your underwear’s soiled, your soaked to the bone
And Francona’s impatiently pacing
So you better start booing, hell you’re not number one,
And the Tribe’s luck ain’t a-changin’

Oh senators, congressmen, please hear the call:
Tell Chapman to grow up, and grow him some balls!
An inning’s relief and he can’t pitch at all
He should thank God for Game 7 rainin’
It’s too bad that he’s gone, his fastball and all,
But the Tribe’s luck, it ain’t a-changin’

The curse it is gone, the Goat it is cast
(And it’s about time, ‘cuz that damn thing had gas)
While annoying Joe Buck waits for one final chance
To sing Clayton Kershaw’s sweet praises
Mow Vin Scully’s lawn, Joe, if you’re fit to do that
And the Tribe’s luck, it ain’t a-changin’

 



Bob Dylan’s 2017 Forecast: “Subterranean Baseball Finance Blues”

by James Finn Garner

Rays are in the basement
Ain’t got the tin to spend
Braves are in a new tent
Paid for by the government
Oakland’s in the same boat
Should they stay? Should they go?
Big pay day’s in San Jose
But for now they’re gonna stay in East Bay

Look out kid
Ya done bin outbid
Owners cry the poor mouth, doin’ it again
Wanna build skyboxes to party with their rich friends
Some day you gotta stop but you don’t know when
Season ticket costs eleven grand, you only got ten . . .

 

 



Bob Dylan’s 2017 Forecast: “Don’t Throw Four, It’s All Right”

by Jim Siergey

It ain’t no use to pitch and wonder why, babe
It don’t matter, anyhow
An’ it ain’t no use to bitch and holler, “Why, Babe?”
You just don’t throw ’em now
When your skipper crows, “Put that man on base,”
No more of your efforts will go to waste
The ump will just signal that batter on
Don’t throw four, it’s all right

 



Kluber’s Clan

By James Finn Garner

With apologies to Samuel Taylor Coleridge

In Canada did Kluber’s clan
A stately baseball dome lay waste
Where Molson’s had in rivers ran
Through taverns ‘cross the frozen land
.     Now left a sour taste

But once before had Cleveland’s Merritt
Begun a game, yet they could bear it
With Miller near to pull his load
The ball did Crisp and Carlos paste
A gonfalon triumph on the road
And two decades of grief erased.

 

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