“Money Ball” MVP

by the Village Elliott

For Josh Donaldson

“Oh by golly, by gosh,
Why’d Beane have to trade Josh?”
Cried fan who’s an A’s East Bay mourner.
“He belongs with our A’s,
Not up north with the Jays,
There playing Toronto’s hot corner!
Now Josh Donaldson’s the
Presumptive MVP
Of the AL, at least he so plays;
While Beane signs bodies warm,
Without legs, hands or arm,
To play the hot corner for the A’s!”

Reckon my friend forgot
Billy owns part of pot,
Kind of like the Cards and Branch Rickey.*
Deal the A’s made with Beane
When the Red Sox seemed keen,
Suggesting Beane, like Rickey, is “tricky”;
Trading deadline is nigh.
Soon fans might say “goodbye”
To both Scott Kazmir and Sonny Gray,
For I doubt Beane forgot
Like Branch, his piece of pot
Is part of what makes Money Ball pay.

PS: Only took half a day
Till Beane traded away
Scott Kazmir, as we all knew he would,
In return, two unknowns
Causing more A’s fans’ groans,
Knowing these guys are gone if they’re good.
___________________________

* When Branch Rickey and Cards,
Owned by Breadon, were pards,
Branch got a cut of each deal he made;
With his farm system flush,
Rickey deemed it a “rush,”
To sell players so he is well paid.
“The Pious Hypocrite”
In his office would sit,
Trade players, not year late, one early;
Rickey never looked back,
Busy counting his stack.
Others thought him impious and surly.


Published in Boston Red Sox, Fans, History, Los Angeles Dodgers, Management, Pure doggerel, St. Louis Cardinals, Toronto Blue Jays, Uncategorized | Link to this poem | 2 Comments

Stingy Zack Greinke

by Michael X. Ferraro

All zeroes from Zack’s what you get
Be you Cubbie or Nat or Met.
His stuff is top-shelf
But Greinke himself
Would say, “I ain’t caught Orel yet.”

Michael’s hilarious football novel Circus Catch is now available from Amazon.

 


Published in Chicago Cubs, Limerick, Los Angeles Dodgers, New York Mets, Washington Nationals | Link to this poem | No Comments

Brewer Sweep

by Doug Fahrendorff

Three straight wins
Over the Pirates
Nice start to
Seasons 2nd half
Improvement obvious
Pulling some fans
From midseason languor
Team still far
From playoff contention
Questions abound
If  Brewers are sellers
At the deadline
Will  Gomez, Segura
Parra or Lind
Be playing elsewhere next month?
And who will remain
To form the nucleus
Of next year’s team?


Published in Fans, Milwaukee Brewers, Pittsburgh Pirates, Players | Link to this poem | 2 Comments

Casey at the Shift

by Hart Seely

The Sportsline odds looked awesome for the Mudville ten that night.
The Twitterverse was raging, Google trends were out of sight.
The Fox announcers struggled to express their full regard
For the team FiveThirtyEight had picked to win the Wild Card.

And in the first, Ed Barrow poked a single just past third.
When Cruz followed with a double, not one doubter could be heard.
For up strode mighty Casey, the team’s icon of success,
With a Fangraphs’ WAR of 10.6, and league-best OPS!

“Time out!” the shortstop waved a hand, his smirk quite unconcealed,
As his teammates relocated to the far end of the field.
Now a thicket of defenders on the right side slowly spread,
“Lay down a bunt!” a young boy cried, but Casey shook his head.

“They won’t fool me,” he muttered, as he sauntered to the plate.
“They want to rob my power stroke, but I won’t take the bait.
“I’m paid to hit home runs, ‘cause bunts won’t make the yokels happy.
“My name is Casey,” Casey said. “Nobody calls me Slappy.”

So hard into the floating orb, he swung with all his weight,
And if he’d undercut that ball, it would have left the state.
A laser shot into the gap; it looked like certain trouble.
The only question: Would he merely settle for a double?

But as the Fates are known to do; they conjured up the worst;
The shortstop caught it on one bounce and threw him out at first.
He kicked the ground, he spat some spit, and huffed some angry air.
“It ain’t my fault,” said Casey. “Fielders don’t belong out there.”

And then, two innings later, it was Casey up again,
His team down by a couple runs, sacks full of Mudville men.
Again the defense shifted place; to bunt became a dare,
Again, he swung with all his might, and this time hit just air.

In the sixth, he reappeared . . . a hero, still divine.
Two outs, two on, a two-two tie, the Wild Card on the line.
The fielders moved, and Casey grinned, completely self-aware,
A routine pop to left would drop, with no one standing there.

“Just bunt!” the young boy pleaded. “There’s no need to crush the ball.
“A grounder to the shortstop hole will roll straight to the wall.
“Just check your swing. It’s easy. You won’t suffer mock disgrace.
“You needn’t send each ball deep into interstellar space!”

But Casey grinned with menace, as he leaned into the pitch,
And swung clean through the cowhide, no suggestion of a hitch.
A fearsome drive roared out to right, the ball was soundly hit,
It might have killed the man, had he not caught with his mitt.

And so the game continued, as the final inning loomed,
Down by one, with one last out, the outlook now looked doomed.
But Barrow beat a drag bunt on a replay-challenged call,
And Cruz, splitting a splitter, laced a double off the wall.

Now up stepped mighty Casey, with a chance to clear his name,
With a million thumbs a-tweeting, “OMG! This is the game!”
“Choke up!” they Twittered. “Lay 1 dwn! U’ll never feel regret.
“A walk-off bunt by Casey? That will break the Internet!”

And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey’s blow.
And now the Jumbotron explodes with fireworks, on cue,
And half the world erupts with joy; the other half yells, “Boo.”

Oh, somewhere in this favored land, our sluggers show restraint,
And like Wee Willie Keeler, batters “hit them where they ain’t.”
Yes, somewhere, children laugh, and not one soul is cast adrift.
But there is no joy in Mudville: Casey couldn’t beat the shift.

 

Hart Seely operates the indispensable Yankee blog, It is High, It is Far, It is . . . caught.


Published in Fans, Players, Songs and Parodies, The Game Itself | Link to this poem | No Comments

Bottom of the Charts–All-Star Break Edition

By Stuart Shea

As we pause before the second half,
It’s good to have a little laugh.

Zunino of Seattle is batting like sh**–
With 100 Ks and just 40 hits.
His OBP is the lowest of all,
At .223, he’s slowed to a crawl.

At least he can catch and hit some home runs,
While Omar Infante just ponders what was.
Nearly an all-star despite his bad year,
Hitting .236; there’s no positives here.

You want some odd stats? Billy Ham’s on a spree–
His 44 steals lead all MLB.
But he’s hitting .220 and does nothing else well,
So his OPS trails the entire NL.

The Brewers would love to trade veteran arms,
But Kyle Loshe and Matt Garza have lost all their charms.
ERA’s over 6 and 5.55,
They won’t fetch a scratched copy of “Stayin’ Alive.”

Some other pitchers whose names we all knew
Were expected to win but just haven’t come through.
C.C. Sabathia has learned how to lose,
Like Kyle Kendrick, Rick Porcello, and even Phil Hughes.

Yes, the second half ought to be fun for us snobs,
But not for the guys who are fighting for jobs.


Published in Fans, Players, Pure doggerel, Stu Shea, The Game Itself | Link to this poem | 1 Comment

Baseball’s Annual Sellout

A Challenge for Poets

“Money Ball” MVP

Stingy Zack Greinke

AL East

NL East

Extra Innings

AL Central

NL Central

Poems by Type

AL West

NL West

Heavy Hitters

Copyright 2007 Bardball.