Best-Selling Humorist.
Naaaah!
Old “Forgive and Forget” Bradley
Because a hitter’s supposed to get hits,
Lou called Miltie a big piece of shit.
With a new gig in Seattle,
Milt’s still fighting old battles,
Showing the world that this shoe still fits.
Bardball is poised and ready to come back for the new baseball season. Please bookmark it for baseball doggerel, served fresh daily during the regular season.
So the news comes that Mark McGwire
On the subject of juice was a liar.
Plus, it’s a good bet
That water is wet
And it hurts to grab something on fire“I’m not here to talk ’bout the past,”
Mark blurted to Congress so fast,
Whatever the pride
He had that day died
To give a defense so half-assed.To get a job working for Tony,
Mark had to confess his baloney.
He was juiced to the ears
The homer-derby years,
A fame-drunk, preposterous phony.To get in the Cooperstown Hall,
McGwire will wait for his call
Til Hell freezes over,
The sea swallows Dover,
And Sammy parleys like Bill Engvall.
UPDATE: Here’s another from Friend of Bardball Doug White:
He once chased Aaron and Ruth
With the callow aggression of youth,
But from his head to his toes,
Just like Petey F. Rose,
McGwire won’t face up to the truth.
The recession in Detroit has claimed another victim. The Tigers’ Curtis Granderson, who by all accounts is as good a man as he is a centerfielder, has been peddled to make room on the payroll. No more will Tiger fans see that skinny body, with the knee socks pulled up high, stretching singles into doubles and roaming the expanse of the outfield. I was hoping that this man, picked 80th in the draft a few years ago, would spend his entire career in a Detroit uniform. It was not to be.
And what’s worse, as cliche as it may sound, is that he’s been traded to the Yankees. The crucible of New York and Yankee Stadium will work hard to beat his personality to fit the Yankee standards and extinguish the fire in his beautiful eyes. After a few key strikeouts, the NY fans will turn on him like a revolving door and boo him straight outta town. I just pray that his character is strong enough to last his tenure there. Because they don’t care if you’re a team leader there, or how much good work you really do through your charities. On top of that, you have to win, all the time. How can anyone stand up to that? Why should they need to?
In honor of Curtis G., here’s a little bit of doggerel I wrote for Bardball in 2008:
Grandy!
No one with a bat is more handy,
With a stance coiled like ribbon candy.Grandy!
His gait is smooth like aged brandy,
Stretching singles into doubles his modus operandi.Grandy!
In any outfield, verdant or sandy,
He’ll grab more flies than the Rio Grande.
With five skills at his command, he
Picks up his team like a Starbucks grande.
He could melt the heart of Tristram Shandy.
Man o man, that kid is dandy.
Can’t you tell? I love Grandy!
Found this terrific animation this morning on Uni-Watch, a strangely compelling site covering the aesthetics of sports uniforms and logos. Check it out.
I wrote and posted this one yesterday on Bardball, but kinda forgot to post it here. What’s this place for, if not to pimp and flog?
And for all the Yankee haters out there, please check out this interesting post from “Pitchers and Poets,” entitled “Frickin’ A-Rod: How I Learned to Stop Wallowing and Grudgingly Support the Yankees.” I have to say, my animosity has been tempered too. Winning a World Series once a decade is a pretty good average, I think.
Just Hold On Til Mo
When your son asks you advice on mascara,
When your head’s a-flame and your mouth’s a Sahara,
When that small, still voice inside prattles like Berra–
I’ve got two words:
Mariano Rivera.When you’re uprooted and force-marched to some terra
Incognita, a dark, doomed hell where a perky Sarah
Palin is president and not just a chimera–
I’ve got two words:
Mariano Rivera.When you yearn for escape and consider hara-
Kiri–Breathe deep, relax, don a fresh guayabera,
And watch the greatest hero since Before the Common Era–
He’ll bless you and keep you:
Mariano Rivera.
Up today on Bardball:
The Ballad of Susan Finkelstein
The girl had “Phillie Fever,
A massive fall attack.
The only cure required her
To lay down on her back.To nab a pair of tickets,
What must a clever girl do?
A “Dirty Utley”? “Around the Lidge”?
A “Hamels Camel” or two?But the cops horned in, and now her pic’s
Been spread across the nation.
Next time, p’raps, she first should try
Some Manuel stimulation.
Good joke sent by an old friend in an email yesterday:
Little David is in the 1st grade. Yesterday morning when the teacher asked the children what their fathers did for a living. All the typical answers came up; fireman, policeman, salesman, etc.
The teacher noticed that little David was being uncharacteristically quiet and so she asked him about his father.
‘My father’s an exotic dancer in a gay bar and takes off all his clothes in front of other men. Sometimes, if the offer’s really good, he’ll go out to the alley with some guy and do it with him for money.’
The teacher, obviously shaken by this statement, hurriedly set the other children to work on some coloring, and took little David aside to ask him,’Is that really true about your father?’
‘No,’ said David,’He plays for the Cubs, but I was too embarrassed to say that in front of the other kids.’
It’s funny cuz it’s true.
Received this evening:
Hi James,
Earlier today, an email promoting Chicago Cubs postseason tickets was sent to you. This, unfortunately, was a mistake. We regret the error and apologize for any inconvenience or confusion this may have caused.
Sincerely,
The StubHub Team
No matter how many times they’re whacked,
Those pesky Twins keep coming back.
Like a dose of clap on your wedding day,
Those lousy Twins won’t stay away.
Like a yappy dog or a Ringling clown,
Those stinking Twins won’t lay down.
In another division, I’d admire their pluck,
But as a Tiger and Sox fan, it looks like I’m stuck
Watching them ruthlessly turning their tricks
Like a mad masked killer in a teen slasher flick.
Like a zombie army or Ted Williams’ head,
Those #$%@!! Twins just won’t stay dead.
Posted yesterday on Bardball.com. Shit.
Posted this morning on Bardball:
Milton Bradley got into Trouble
Caught in the Wrigley Field bubble.
A Payday enormous
For such poor performance.
Now his Career’s nothing but rubble.
.
Sorry, Milt, that Chicago’s blunt fans
Made it seem less than a Candyland.
That’s the Risk that you take
Living Life by the lake.
It’s like permanent Ants in the Pants.
.
Is the Aggravation because you are black?
Balderdash, Milty, You Don’t Know Jack.
We all had a Clue
This is what you would do.
Last Word: Your Cranium‘s cracked.
.
I just read in the Free Press that tonight, Ernie Harwell will be saluted during the game between the Tigers and the Royals. Harwell, one of the premier baseball broadcasters and a staple in the lives of anyone who lived in Michigan in the past 50 years, was diagnosed with inoperable bile duct cancer last month. (For some readers’ reactions to the news, check out this article in the Freep. Have a tissue ready.)
I wish I were able to tune in the game tonight in Chicago to see the message. I’m sure Ernie will be his gracious self and thank everyone for their well wishes and for making his life in Detroit so full. Whereas, in reality, he was the one who enriched our lives, with his skill, his great storytelling ability, his humor, and his seemingly endless goodwill for everyone. It’s hard to write about him without seeming maudlin, but if the world still values humility, graciousness and respect for your fellow man (all of which certainly have taken a beating in the news for the past few years), then every day should be a salute to his example. He lived a long, full life, and he made everyone’s lives better who came in contact with him.
A couple seasons ago, I sent a letter to Ernie to tell him about our new baseball poetry site, Bardball.com. I don’t know why, but I imagined he would acknowledge it in some way, because until felled with illness, he always had time for everyone. I was floored when he sent the postcard below AND mentioned us in his regular Free Press column. And dig that! “I appreciate your support. Enjoyed your verse.” I was over the moon when that arrived. And how cool is it that he used a Mickey Mantle stamp on it?
And now, news of his declining health makes me feel negligent, as if I haven’t searched out his books, or read his column as religiously as he deserves. I probably thought he would go on forever. That’s the kid in me, the one listening to Ernie and Paul Carey on the clock radio real quietly on a school night as the Tigers muddled their way through another game.
His books are great, but a little too anecdotal, which makes them a little choppy. Ernie’s not Roger Kahn, after all, but none of us are. He was best enjoyed in the moment, when the game was unfolding and he was talking about Sparky or Gibby or John Wockenfuss, or whether the pitcher had his best stuff that night, or the fan from Amherstberg who caught the foul ball. I’ve tried working on a poem for Ernie for Bardball for a couple years now, but have never been able to get it quite right. Maybe soon I’ll finish it, but it won’t be nearly adequate to describe the man. To get a full measure of him, for those of you out-of-towners, imagine his spicy baritone on Opening Day, when he would read from the Song of Solomon:
For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;
The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.
All the sweetness of creation. And with that, another season began, and the world was new again.
How many broadcasters can give you that?
UPDATE: You can watch Ernie’s speech by going to Bless You Boys, and you can see the video highlight reel shown at the stadium last night at the Tigers website here.
Back at the Printers Row Lit Fest in June, after we appeared on a panel to discuss baseball and Cubbie Blues, I cornered Sara Paretsky and asked her to read a poem for Bardball.com. She was nice enough to agree to it, and looked over the 8 or so poems I just happened to have printed up. Just my luck, she chose my poem “Wings of the Bird”. We found a little vacant lecture room in the Harold Washington Library and taped this below. Hope you like (apologies in advance for the clumsy editing).
If you’re a Sara Paretsky fan (and of course, you should be), her new book starring V.I. Warshawski is coming out on September 22. You can find more info on the book, Hardball, at her webpage here.
We’ve now posted a second podcast for Bardball.com, the only daily baseball poetry website. In this episode, a plethora of readers will regale you with poems about Dontrelle Willis, father-and-son bonding, and a parody of Robert Frost about sneaking down to the expensive stadium seats during later innings.
Yeah, we’s well read, we got a little Frost parody action goin’ on! Can I get an Amen and a Holy Cow?!
Please catch the latest Bardball Bardcast at libsyn by clicking here.
You can also subscribe to us at iTunes. Even if you don’t regularly listen to podcasts, please consider subscribing, as that will raise our profile and attract some more fans to us. We’re building a great community here, one piece of doggerel at a time.
Posted today on Bardball:
The White Sox and the Cubbies
Determined to have a battle.
Then Ozzie said that Wrigley Field
Wasn’t fit for cattle.“It makes me puke,” he told the press,
Though he meant no disrespect.
His mouth is like a leaky faucet,
So what could you expect?The Chicago skippers aren’t like the twins
From Lewis Carroll’s book of yore.
Ozzie yips like a hyper spaniel
While Lou just shrugs and snores.
This year has been a stellar one over at Bardball, the baseball poetry website. Some of our submissions have been so well written, we may have to change our slogan from “Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel” to “Baseball Poetry I Wish I’d Wish I’d Written.”
And now, we’re gettin’ all high-tech and virtual on y’all, because now we’ve made our first podcast featuring poetry from the site. Unfortunately on this first “Bardcast”, I’m the one doing the narration, but there’s plenty of good writing and cool music to take your mind off my flat Midwestern A’s. This podcast is from poetry we published around the beginning of the season, but we’ll have a lot more as the summer rolls on.
Please check it out by going to libsyn. You can also find the Bardcast through iTunes. If you feel like doing us a favor, click to subscribe on the Bardcast to drive our numbers out of the single digits.