By Stu Shea
Scorecards and pencils
In frostbitten hands,
Cold wind whips like a snake through the stands.
Occasional slats of sunshine
Serve only to bribe us to stay
With their manipulative promises of May.
Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
A COLD DAY IN CELL
To only the thick and the bold
Home opener tickets were sold
For those who attended
Were frozen rear-ended
‘Cause Phone Field was wickedly cold.