by James Finn Garner
Stars and journeymen come and go,
But the colors stay the same
(Unless a retool’s passed by MLB,
The Heidi Klums of the game).
We cheer for laundry throughout the year,
And as the leaves turn red and gold,
The winning jerseys pull up front,
Eight teams leave the fold.
Champagne pops and high fives slap
As they reach the next plateau
And don those “Division Champ” caps and shirts
And pocket the marketing dough.
Players cheer for the laundry, too,
And a little more fold on the side.
Hey, 20 grand is 20 grand.
It buys a lot of Tide.
Published in Players, Pure doggerel, The Game Itself | Link to this poem | No Comments