by R.J. Lesch
Rivera’s winding up his farewell tour.
The Rockies’ Helton takes his final bow.
Guerrero leaves the players’ ranks one fewer,
and Pettitte says the time to quit is now.
Who else will be upon the Hall of Fame’s
induction ballot only five years hence?
We’ll cheer them while they play their final games,
and then the tearing down part will commence.
Which candidates are worthy of a plaque?
To get your player through those hallowed doors,
You have to stab the others in the back,
As fewer votes for them mean more for yours.
“Your player’s glove was not so good,” I’ll say.
And you’ll reply my candidate struck out
too often in the clutch. And, by the way,
his value came from a syringe, no doubt.
It’s sad to drag good players through the dust,
but votes are scarce. So, Cooperstown AND bust!
Published in Fans, History, Players, Sonnets, The Game Itself | Link to this poem | No Comments