by Michael X. Ferraro
John Lackey, don’t you hear that sound
as you harrumph upon the mound?
David Ross, do your Cub ears twitch
as you jog toward the errant pitch?
That noise — whoooosh — ain’t what you reckoned
Published in Chicago Cubs, Cincinnati Reds, Players, Pure doggerel, The Game Itself | Link to this poem | No Comments