Posted on

Where Will All The Feral Cats in Shea Stadium Go?

by Sid Yiddish

Apologies to Pete Seeger and his “Where Have All The Flowers Gone?”

Where will all the feral cats in Shea Stadium go?
Long time hissing,
Where will all the feral cats in Shea Stadium go?

Perhaps they’ll go live down in the sewers
with all the giant super rats,
that’ll make tasty meals for all those cats

Oh, where will they all go?
Oh, where will they all go?

.
Where will all the feral cats in Shea Stadium go?
Long time hissing,
Where will all the feral cats in Shea Stadium go?

Now that Durocher’s not there
To stare him down,
Well I guess that’s what Lou Pinella is for

Oh, where will they all go?
Oh, where will they all go?

.
Where will all the feral cats in Shea Stadium go?
Long time hissing,
Where will all the feral cats in Shea Stadium go?

Maybe they’ll all hook up with Billy Joel; he needs a new backing band,
if that last album of his doesn’t tell
you anything, then these cats will

Oh, where will they all go?
Oh, where will they all go?

.
Where will all the feral cats in Shea Stadium go?
Long time hissing,
Where will all the feral cats in Shea Stadium go?

They’ll go clubbing with Howard Stern
He can never have enough cats on each arm,
While turning on that shock-jock charm

Oh, where will they all go?
Oh, where will they all go?

.
Where will all the feral cats in Shea Stadium go?
Long time hissing,
Where will all the feral cats in Shea Stadium go?

To feed the hungry, to feed the poor
Who can never afford much more than they make
Catsup & salt upon feral cat steak!

Oh, where will they all go?
Oh, where will they all go?

For more on Sid Yiddish’s poetry, music and performances, check out his My Space page.

Posted 10/28/08

Posted on

Whore Me Out at the SkyBox

by James Finn Garner

In honor of the 100th anniversary of “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” and the 85th and final year of Yankee Stadium.

Casey Kelly had quite the job,
Quite the envy of every slob.
This businessman was a slip’ry eel,
Cutting deals, greasing wheels.
He knew f*ck-all of the national game,
But of this he was not ashamed.
When he saw poor saps lined up at the park
Trying to buy tickets, he’d bark,

“Whore me out at the skybox!
My firm takes care of the tab.
Clients just flew in from Washington.
We need to get plastered to get the deal done.
Oh, we’ll write this off on our taxes,
Champagne, sirloin and fresh lox.
We might

EVEN

WATCH

SOME

Of the game
From our sweet skybox!”

Posted 10/23/08

Posted on

Dreadlocks in the Wind

by JHB

Goodbye, Manuel Aristides,
At times we all were far too cruel,
But you had the grace to point both hands
While smilin’ like a fool.
They disparaged you in the Herald,
Made innuendoes in the Globe.
They chased you all around the Hub,
Caught in flashbulbs like a strobe.

And it seems to me you lived your life
With your dreadlocks in the wind,
Steppin’ quickly in the Monster
Just to take a whiz,
And you would have been our hero,
But you were just a kid.
Your time here ran out long before
Your legend ever did.

Manny being Manny’s tough,
The toughest role you ever played,
But your bat made you a superstar,
And pain’s the price you paid.
Even when you left,
The press still had too much to say.
All that Boston.com would comment
Was that Manny didn’t want the trade.

And it seems to me you lived your life
With your dreadlocks in the wind,
Catchin’ flies and givin’ high-fives
Before you’d throw it in,
And you would have been our hero,
But you were just a kid,
Your time here ran out long before
Your legend ever did.

Goodbye, Manuel Aristides,
Though I never knew you at all,
You had the feel to play left field,
Fielding caroms off the Wall.
Goodbye, Manuel Aristides,
From the young boy in a Monster Seat,
Who saw you as something not so infantile,
Maybe what he would like to be,

And it seems to me you lived your life
With your dreadlocks in the wind,
If the role was just too much to bear,
It’s not as if you sinned,
And you would have been our hero,
But you were just a kid,
Your time here ran out long before,
Your legend ever did.

  Posted 9/10/08

Posted on

Sportswriter William Blake on the Yankees–Red Sox Game of 8/26

By Hart Seely

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold the playoffs in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

A bullpen fill’d with doves and pigeons
Gives up runs thru’ all its regions.
A boat sunk at its master’s buoy
Predicts the ruin of our Matsui.

Each outgrowth of Giambi hair
A fibre from the brain does tear.
With Joba wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.

The A-Rod clipt and arm’d for fight
Hopes pitcher hurls from left, not right.
Every Pudge and Damon howl
Sends to hell a redsock soul.

The bat that flits at close of eve
Has kill’t the fans that won’t believe.
The team that calls upon tonight
Shall send the loser home in fright.

Hart Seely is the author of the hilarious Mother Goose Goes to Washington, as well as Oh Holy Cow: The Selected Verse of Phil Rizzuto, newly released in a 15th-anniversary edition. He often hangs around the Yankee website, It is High, It is Far, It is….caught, offering tasteful and constructive comments to management and players alike.

Posted 9/8/08.