The Shakespearean Baseball Game

by Wayne and Shuster

Happy 453rd birthday, Willie Bard!

 


Published in Broadcasters, History, Songs and Parodies, The Game Itself, video | Link to this poem | No Comments

Modern Times

By Stephen Jones

A mass of numbers — that’s baseball.
Now, however, stats of memory (and tradition)
Are being supplanted . . . by accounting firms who
Leverage numbers for metric analysis.
You sing: Where have all the baseball cards gone?
The answer is: Welcome to the data crunch.
It isn’t enough, anymore, to say so-and-so hit two-forty.
Calipers now have been applied — it’s a
Surgery of analytics, to build a better bionic team.

 


Published in Free Verse, Management, Players, The Game Itself | Link to this poem | 1 Comment

Bob Dylan’s 2017 Forecast: “With God on Cards’ Side”

By the Village Elliott

Oh, my game, it is baseball.
My home team’s the best,
The team that I root for,
Once league’s furthest west;
I’s taught and brought up where
Redbird fans reside,
Learn the St. Louis Cardinals
Have God on our side.

Learned the game from my father,
Local fan till last day.
Taught me, “Watch your team play, son,
Play the game the right way.”
Watched, rooted, and studied,
Played with own inner pride,
Like I learned as a Cards’ fan
With God on our side.

Have own Hall of Fame Roster
Bat with Redbirds on chest
Diz and Gibby hurled high heat
“Stan the Man’s” still our best
Slats, Pepper, Brock, Cha Cha
Curt Flood’s on-/off-field pride.
My team’s greats played the game right
With God on their side.

I attended first series,
Damn Yanks, ’64.
Teams split the first six games,
Each must win one game more.
Sat with Dad in the bleachers,
Where Mick’s last tater flied.
Final out celebrated
With God on our side.

Beat Damn Yanks for first title.
Old Pete was the gent,
Soon Lou and Babe payback,
In four games Cards are spent.
Split next two, early ’40s,
Wounded Damn Yankees’ pride,
Then they start counting dead boys
With God on their side.

After Second World War, boys,
BoSox dream Cards upend.
Later “Lonborg’s Champagne”
Drink “Impossible’s” end,
But post-Y2K,
Big Papi’s, Sox pride
Twice repay the Redbirds
With God on their side.

Oh, the record book tells it,
It tells it so well:

Pages: 1 2


Published in Ballparks, Boston Red Sox, Detroit Tigers, Fans, Former Teams, History, Milwaukee Brewers, New York Yankees, San Francisco Giants, Songs and Parodies, St. Louis Cardinals, The Game Itself, Youth | Link to this poem | No Comments

Three Matching Sox

by James Finn Garner

The game’s been built of 3s
Since, like, eternity.
3 outs, 3 strikes,
3 bases and the like

Now add to these trios
Garcias who with brio
Manned the grass for the Hose.
Unlike the real bros

Matty, Felipe and Jesus–
The splendid Alous–
These Garcias don’t own
Similar chromosomes

But never in history
Has an outfield had 3
Confused when they hear
“Hey! Garcia! Get over here!”

 


Published in Chicago White Sox, History, James Finn Garner, Players, Pure doggerel | Link to this poem | No Comments

Jonathan Holder, the Holder of Holds

by Hart Seely

Behold “Hold’em” Holder, the Holder of holds.
His heaters hate hitters, their bats catching colds.
His outings eat innings, as each hold unfolds,
Behold “Hold’em” Holder! the Holder of holds!

Just call “Hold’em” Holder; the lead will be held.
Our enemies vanquished, their loss clearly smelled,
This Holder will hold them, their hopes to be quelled,
Behold “Hold’em” Holder! Our vict’ry upheld!

Behold “Hold’em” Holder; he holds, does not save,
Each new hold unfolding, each game to its grave,
A high-holding holder, their bats shall behave!
Behold “Hold’em” Holder! Our lead shall not cave!

 


Published in New York Yankees, Players, Pure doggerel, Youth | Link to this poem | No Comments

The Well-Dressed Ball Player

Shakespeare and Baseball

The Shakespearean Baseball Game

Modern Times

AL East

NL East

Extra Innings

AL Central

NL Central

Poems by Type

AL West

NL West

Heavy Hitters

Copyright 2007 Bardball.