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Bob Dylan’s 2017 Forecast: “Just Like Tom Ricketts’ Blues”

by Jim Siergey

When you’re lost in the rain in Cleveland
And it’s Game Seven too
And your confidence has failed
‘Cuz your bullpen didn’t pull you through
Don’t make any more errors
Or Fate will be laughin’ at you
You got some hungry fans there
And they all bleed Cubbie Blue . . .

Now if you see J. Heyward
Please tell him thanks a lot
He could not hit
But what he did won’t be forgot
‘Cuz he built up their strength
To go out and take another shot
He was the motivatin’ factor
behind them givin’ all that they got

 

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Bob Dylan’s 2017 Forecast: “If Not For Trout”

by James Finn Garner

If not for Trout
The Angels would be a shame
Wouldn’t win a single game
The bottom would drop out
If not for Trout

If not for Trout
Big A would be humdrum
Fans might even watch the Bums
Talk about a drought
If not for Trout

If not for Trout, Pujols would quit
Scioscia would get the heave
Escobar would be hitting the bricks
They’d be lost if not for Steve

If not for Trout
They would be Triple A
Simmons would beg for a trade
A stinking mess throughout
If not for Trout

 

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Bob Dylan’s 2017 Forecast: “Absolutely Sent Lawrie”

by Jim Siergey

Well, your baseball gait, you know you just ain’t jumpin’
Sometimes it gets too hard, you see
I’m just sittin’ here, waiting to see sum’pin
There’s just no progress in your injury
So we’re waiving you tonight, Brett Lawrie

Well, I waited for you with Adam Eaton
Yes, I waited for you with Adam Laroche
Well, I waited for you as we got beaten
When I thought Ventura would learn to coach
So we’re waiving you tonight, Brett Lawrie

Well, anybody can hurt his knee, obviously
Then again, not many hang on this long, fortunately

Some prospects are ripe way down in Charlotte
Some of them may boost White Sox esprit
It was tough trading Sale, but we’ll allow it
If Moncada is as good as he seems to be
So we’re waiving you tonight, Brett Lawrie

 

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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

 

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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’