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True West

by James Finn Garner

The AL crown’s on the line
A years-, nay, decades-long quest
Requires an ump with judgment fine

.          …it’s Joe West.

Baseball’s a game of inches
Tension leaves everyone stressed
Who’s the ace who decides the tight pinches?

.         …it’s Joe West.

A ball is hit past the outfield!
Will a player or spectator wrest
The ball free? Who’s got his eagle eye peeled?

.          …it’s Joe West.

An assessor of vague situa-
Tions, a sage with acuity blessed
Contradicted by every last replay

.         …it’s Joe West.

 

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September Song

by Stephen Jones

You crowded stadiums in April;
No matter where you were–all was equal:
The decibel of expectation outweighed price,
And everyone–all of you–sat alike
In a Spring glow of your baseball dream
(A winner this year, being common theme).

And now … and now it’s September.
Meaningless games dot the calendar.
Flurry of trades, of sure-fire acquisitions–
Are you ready for October’s postseason?
Is your dream secure in a playoff berth?
(Or are you saying “Next year!” for all it’s worth?)

 

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Sonny Sends Regrets

by HoraceClarke66

With apologies to Sir Elton John.

Hey fans, park it on the sofa,
The Yanks are playin’ at home
But you might as well watch Oprah.
They’re servin’ up the fatted calf tonight
Don’t stick around
You’re gonna see balls flyin’
All around the pound.

Surrender all hope, ain’t you seen him yet?
Oh, but he’s so damned sad—
S-S-Sonny sends regrets.
Oh, he looks scared and he’s just awful
Oh, Sonny he’s truly bad.
He’s got no real fastball,
Stuff don’t break at all,
He made some 19-year-old look like Vla-a-a-ad
S-S-Sonny sends regrets.

Hey, Coops, give up on this phe-nom.
We know that you’re blinded
But it’s like tryna win Viet-nam.
Guess who’s McNamara in this scenario?
He wasn’t worth Fowler or Mate-o.
We shall survive but he needs to be gone.

Oh, Cashy, why is it you can’t see that yet?
Oh, but he’s so damned scared!
S-S-Sonny sends regrets.
Sonny, Sonny, Sonny, Sonny
Sonny, Sonny, Sonny, Sonny to the Mets . . .

 

Originally appeared on the Yankee blog, It Is High, It Is Far, It Is . . . caught.

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All-Star Clerihews

Corey Kluber
Ain’t such a goober
As to respond to missives
From Nigerian princes.

Ross Stripling
Loves his Rudyard Kipling.
After arguing with umpires,
He enjoys stories of empire.

Alex Bregman
Claims he is the Eggman,
But we all know Elvis Andrus
Is the Walroos.

Mookie Betts
Is as good as it gets
At patiently giving curves a look-see,
and also at being named Mookie.