by James Finn Garner
It brightens baseball’s heart, Dontrelle,
To have you back and pitching well.
Your fastball cutting like a knife,
Endangering the catcher’s life,
Your off-speed floating up and down,
Your hat too big like Charlie Brown’s.
Your rookie year is long behind–
Was that the thing that messed your mind?
We all get old, last time I checked.
That doesn’t mean your life is wrecked.
You’ve got the stuff, now find the guile,
And you’ll be here a good long while.
Published in Detroit Tigers, James Finn Garner, Players, Pure doggerel | Link to this poem | 2 Comments