A loss that feels worse than a shame

Like never will life be the same:

What do you do?

Snap, tomorrow is new,

A beautiful day for a game.

The thing about a new team that really makes me sweat

Is learning all my teammates’ names so I won’t forget.

There’s Freddy, Arthur, Carlos, Chris, Greg and Gil and Ben,

Then that guy I get mixed up–Kelly? maybe Ken?

There’s Julio and Rafael, Steve, Luis, and Rett,

There’s Edgar, Mike and Mark and Matt, and the funny Bret.

Ryan, Aaron, Ryan, Aaron, Ryan, Willie, Dan,

Shigetoshi, Kazuhiro, Ichiro–Japan!

Joel and J.J., John and John, Jamie and Jamal,

Just Jeff and Jeff and Jeff are left. There, I think that’s all!

It looks like the false age police

Have caught on to Pedro Feliz.

It’s not hard to envision

The roster decision

Where the Giants choose whom to release.

I’m trying to understand UZR

But I’m feeling a little confUZR.

In L.F. Long’s the pits

Cuz C.F. gave him fits?

I don’t get it; I must be a lUZR.

Pronouncing each left-handed knuckler

Just tickles me: try it: “Nap Ruckler!”

When I whoop, “Mickey Haefner!”

I burst out in laughner,

And “Wilbur Wood!” too be a chuckler.

“What’s great about Bobby Abreu,”

Says Bowa, “He’ll never dismeu.”

He just gives his best

And will not protest,

Whatever you ask, he’ll obeu.”

The creation

and implementation

of a system of relegation

would only be a temptation

after a long period of frustration

without a single so-called abberation

getting a World Series celebration,

and would only come as an act of desperation

due to serious franchise value hyperdeflation,

in combination

with inebriation.

Though two-headedness has its charms,

This really should raise some alarms.

If catchers see double

It could cause some trouble

Unless they have added forearms.

“Don’t trust this dishonest old man.

That’s not how it really began.

His story’s a con.

All I did,” said Livan,

“Was tell him, ‘Don’t call me Livann.'”

I had a short exchange

With ESPN’s Rob Neyer

Which led me to arrange

A song that it inspired.

Download the song:

• Low Bandwidth (138KB, mp3 format)
• High Bandwidth (368KB, mp3 format)

Ah, Mister Home Run, Mark McGwire!

A guy that I really admire.

For back when he played,

He mastered his trade,

And then he knew how to retire.

I’d like to see you spend a week

Trying to learn how to speak

Exactly like Peter

And then hold your meter,

(Like Wakefield, then Nen), and technique.

The well-designed Astro, Geoff Blum,

Shouldn’t make Houston fans glum,

But Julio Lugo?

Worth less than a Yugo:

His engine just lacks a good hum.

If Astros fans watching Jeff Kent

See a throwing arm erringly bent

Forcing Jeff Bagwell

To have to tag well,

They’ll wonder where Biggio went.

The Padres without injured Trevor

Have likely no chance whatsoever.

Without a clear heir,

They don’t have a prayer,

Though I guess you should never say never.

Our mission: to explore the perfect swing,

The easy uppercut, the solid sound,

The bat directed smoothly to the ground,

The skyward peek to see what’s taking wing.

The ball is launched, and soon our eyes project

The missile’s life ahead, its quick ascent,

Its long, lingering peak, the slow descent

From grand success to accomplished respect.

But suddenly, an unexpected hand

Just reaches up and catches us off guard,

Abruptly snatching down our visions, hard:

Our dreams don’t always end the way we planned.

We rage at being victims of deceit,

Misled by expectations; this foul theft

Aborts our lofty dreams, and all that’s left

Is the unbearable arc, incomplete.