After Fullmer fell through, within hours,
The Padres’ GM, Kevin Towers,
Kept on advancin’
By finding Dave Hansen,
With magical pinch-hitting powers.

Ed Wade must feel in his bones
A compulsion to pick up the phones
And keep buying old men
Who can fill up his pen
His latest obsession: Todd Jones.

The Giants are Ricky Ledeed.
Why Sabean made such a trade,
And for Felix, no less,
I have only one guess:
He got brainwashed somehow by Ed Wade.

Fullmer as Padre? Misplaced.
This DH should not be first-based.
Getting Brad for pinch-hitting,
San Diego’s admitting
Cirillo’s been simply a waste.

Update: This trade has been nixed.
I guess that this blessing is mixed.
Cirillo’s still there,
Wasting good air,
But Brad’s knee wasn’t properly fixed.

Mets fans should feel quite afraid.
Their team’s launched a crazy crusade.
Bye, Kazmir! Bye, Huber!
Your GM’s a goober
Who lost to LaMar in a trade.

Choi fills L.A. with elation.
And Penny improves their rotation.
They’ll miss Paul Lo Duca.
But with Gagne’s bazooka,
Their pen will survive deMotation.

In addition to presaging Douglas Adams and his Restaurant at the End of the Universe, this quote from S.J Perelman demonstrates the proper use of the word “humbug”:

What floored me, actually, wasn’t that the veal had found a way to communicate–a more or less inevitable development, once you accepted the basic premise of Elsie, the Borden cow–but rather its smarmy and masochistic pitch. Here, for the first time in human experience,a supposedly inanimate object, a cutlet, had broken through the barrier and revealed itself as a creature with feelings and desires. Did it signalize its liberation with ecstasy, cry out some exultant word of deliverance, or even underplay it with a quiet request like “Mr. Watson, come here. I want you”? No; the whole message reeked of self-pity, of invalidism, of humbug. It was a snivelling, eunuchoid plea for special privilege, a milepost of Pecksniffery. It was disgusting.

–S.J. Perelman
I Am Not Now, Nor Have I Ever Been, A Matrix Of Lean Meat
New Yorker Magazine
1953
From the Fierce Pajamas Anthology

Arroyo plunks ARod right on the arm.
ARod’s enraged, though the pitch did no harm.
ARod starts shouting, “That was intended!”
Arroyo replies back, “Don’t be offended.
The pitch got away. It was not at all planned.
The ball merely slipped right out of my hand.”
Says ARod, “Yeah, right. Any bridges to sell?
I do not believe you. You can go straight to” Varitek cuts off this long conversation:
“Mr. Rodriguez, I see your frustration,
But would you be kind now, and go take your base?”
ARod shouts, “Shut up, punk! Outta my face!
I’ve heard enough of this dumb Boston bunk!”
Varitek asks, “Who you calling a punk?”
ARod points moundward, shouting, “Punk? You!”
And also to Varitek, “You’re a punk, too!”
The reply: “You seem tense! Did you get enough lunch?
Here’s a nice knuckle sandwich and a cupful of punch!”
ARod and Varitek fight to the ground
Players flood toward them from everywhere ’round
As if a dam of sanity had burst and dementia was now surging through and

sometimes, when the world seems too intense,
a small, human sacrifice
is what it needs–

a madness to stop the madnesses,
a hurt to stop the hurts.

A trail of blood
oozes down the face of Tanyon Sturtze,

and the game proceeds.

I’m not shocked the bullpen is great.
I’m not surprised Beltre bloomed late,
Or that Green has declined.
But I’m startled to find
Izturisn’t lost at the plate.

Rickety Rocketry
Clemens gets clobbered by
Pals he wore pinstripes with
One year ago.

Houston’s whole season has
Been disappointing; such
Underperformances
Ruin their show.

God knows Oakland needed Dotel.
But KC, with Beltran to sell,
Got just Buck, Wood and Teahen?
I’m really not seahen
Why Baird would want those personnel.

As prospects, they’re all second-tier.
How good they will be, it’s not clear.
The players they need
Are Olivo and Reed
But this just hasn’t been KC’s year.

AL

Though many first baseman show promise,
the best year belongs to Frank Thomas.

Belliard’s had a good year,
but I’ll choose Soriano’s career.

Carlos Guillen sure has swung,
but I somehow prefer Michael Young.

Voting for ARod’s a bore; a
merrier pick’s Melvin Mora.

Posada and Victor, I judge,
are not quite as worthy as Pudge.

While Ford, Dye, and Beltran ain’t bad,
they’re not Manny, Sheffield or Vlad.

 
NL

Even those who don’t follow fanatically
know Pujols will go automatically.

I think I am fairly content
in casting my vote for Jeff Kent.

Shortstop this year really sucks.
Jack Wilson’s played well for the Bucs.

Rolen must get my support.
Can’t I move Lowell to short?

Piazza’s still back of the plate
Estrada will just have to wait.

Berkman and Bonds and Abreu,
with my votes I hereby OK you.

Heh! Mondesi injured his quad.
The Angels have wasted their wad.
Why in Hell can’t they learn?
Play with fire, you will burn.
Heaven knows there’s a fair and just God.

Isn’t there some kind of rule
To prevent this charade by Raul?
Even though Mondesi’s
Not Barry Bondesy,
Skipping your contract ain’t cool.

“We need to have a talk about the door.”
Her venom bared, she sheds her socks, her blouse,
her bra, her pants, then slithers off the floor
and into bed. Her eyes encoil her spouse.

The hissing message piques his ears. His hair
is shocked erect. His paws are clenched. His back
is arched. He freezes, sizing up her stare,
then creeps up slowly, hungry for attack.

The closer takes the field, immersed in sweat,
the bases loaded, two outs, one-run lead,
the swarming air abuzz about the threat,
the prize so near desire transmutes to need.

He bends and grabs the rosin, throws it down,
then with a long, deep breath, ascends the mound.

Mountains, pyramids,
Eiffel towers, church steeples:
their bones understand.

Perfection stands tall
against an immense blue dome
and points toward God.

The next sneeze is only a dust mite away. Still, the problem remains.

Now I can just say, “I hurt it like Sammy Sosa did.” The back pain is awful, but so is feeling like a meathead trying to explain how I got hurt. With rest and ibuprofen, I’m usually restored to normal in about four to six days.

This happens to me once or twice a year. Sometimes, though, the sneeze comes on too quickly, and catches me in a bad position, so that my weak muscligamentendon ends up absorbing the force of the sneeze, and breaks.

I try to sneeze with good posture. I also sneeze a lot, thanks to a mild house dust allergy.

There’s a muscle/ligament/tendon (don’t know which) in my lower back that I keep on reinjuring over and over. I’ve been kind of embarrassed about it, but now I know I’m not alone.

I have a problem.

A well-groomed infield.
Honor the work as sacred.
Hop over foul lines.

(HUMBUG PRESS INTERNATIONAL)
The Humbug Journal has ascertained that the bidder who purchased a Picasso for $104.1 million is a group of baseball executives headed by art collector Jeffrey Loria (owner, Florida Marlins), Bob DuPuy (President, Major League Baseball) and parking lot mogul Frank McCourt (owner, Los Angeles Dodgers).

McCourt helped the group finance the entire purchase through a series of loans, equity partnerships, and pre-arranged promotional deals. The group supplied no capital of its own to acquire the painting, titled “Boy With A Pipe”.

The first promotional deal will take place in June, when the painting will be modified slightly to participate in an advertising campaign promoting a new motion picture.

A source familiar with the Picasso group explains the promotion like this: ‘We need to reach out to a younger demographic to bring them to the museums. Our research shows that we have a huge opportunity with kids, to bring them into painting. We needed to engage them in relevant and meaningful ways. It’s the future of how we generate excitement inside the museum and about art itself.”

Picasso’s work is now relevant and meaningful.

“This is the perfect alliance between two quintessential art forms, painting and movies,” said the source. “This partnership celebrates superheroes, whether they are on the canvas or on the big screen and we are extremely excited about the opportunity to create this unique promotion.”

“It will become a part of our continuing marketing efforts to appeal to younger art lovers in new and non-traditional ways,” added the source. “We anticipate that the painting will break records at our museums and movie will be a hit in the theaters.”

[UPDATE: Our source has denied making these statements. “I never said that,” said the source. “Don’t put words into my mouth. Listen to what I say. That’s not what I said.”

Humbug regrets having said that he said what he said. It’s an isolated mistake. We’re not like that. That’s not who we are. We do not intend to step down. We will stay the course. Humbug stands by its name.]

The following poem (in haiku form) consists exclusively of the top search engine keywords for this blog. That is, it uses only the words that people have googled to reach humbug.com in May, in order of their frequency. I only added punctuation, and broke ties. Thanks to grapez for the idea.

Poem: free verse. Nick
Swisher, less than Greek of life.
Essay-my Swedish table.

Periodic and
baseball: the humbug nature.
A translator rhyme.

Limerick, sonnet,
acrostic: translate. Is art
blue about value?

Bard simulator.
Haiku fanimutations.
Memory for sports.