No one, from what I can see,
Deserves the AL MVP.
It seems, although I’m not sure why,
That losing teams need not apply,
And when we look at winning teams,
No one had a Year of Dreams.
So let’s default to second place,
And say that A-Rod won the race.
Dry brown leaves cluster
beneath the barren branches
of a fruitless tree.
Empty plastic cups,
hot dog wrappers, peanut shells:
waste of a season.
The sweet swing of Pujols
has very very few holes,
but the big bat of Barry
is the most very very.
When Manny Ramirez got sick,
He wouldn’t go swing his big stick,
And then he ignored
The mad media horde;
Is it his head or his skin that is thick?
Military spending causes Japan anxiety.
It’s “nothing short of humbug in adult society.”
In the NL,
is Willis, Dontrelle.
Cabrera, Miguel
is a Marlin, as well.
Reyes, Jose
as well as Seo, Jae
plus Wigginton, Ty
are each a Met guy
but are not outpacin’
their mate Phillips, Jason.
Montreal has Day, Zach
who got hurt but came bach
and Vargas, Claudio
whom I also applaudio.
The strikeout/walk ratio
of Ramirez, Horatio
does not really sway
like the Brave Hodges, Trey.
St. Lou got to know
the surprising Hart, Bo.
Podsednik, Scott
has really been hot.
The flying Byrd, Marlon
Is the Phillies’ young darlon.
Not much could prepariome
for Robertson, Jeriome
who along with Lidge, Brad
make Houston not bad.
Williams, Jerome
makes Pac Bell his home,
as does Foppert, Jesse
who is sometimes impresse.
But I cannot abandon
my choice of Webb, Brandon.
The AL could pitch
arms like Harden, Rich.
Another to like
Was MacDougal, Mike.
A good future’s facin’
the Tribe’s Davis, Jason.
Don’t bet a casino
against Lopez, Aquilino.
You can take a good chance
on young Carter, Lance.
And Soriano, Rafael
also threw really well.
Two words for a Yankee:
Rodriguez, Frankie.
Teixeira, Mark,
hit balls out of the park,
while Baldelli, Rocco
also showed socko.
Detroit’s Munson, Eric,
could make balls atmospheric,
while his mate Monroe, Craig
is a real powderkeg,
like the Tribe’s Gerut, Jody
whose bat is explody.
And they’re thankful to have his
young friend Hafner, Travis.
But in the AL
I pick Berroa, Angel
who wins neck-and-necky
over Matsui, Hideki.
The wind tells the sails
the secret of its power
in its dying breath.
Unknowable messages
whispered from father to son.
A still August lake,
like a smooth mirror, reveals
yourself to yourself.
Perhaps you’re a stone,
scratched, flawed, dull, dark, dense, heavy,
sinking slowly down.
Or, like a prism,
the light shines on you and you
make it brilliant.
Autumn awaits you.
Ripples inch you back and forth.
Nothing is resolved.
Personally, I prefer Torii.
Though Erstad sure is a nice storii.
I’m aware of what Andruw
And Cameron canduw;
Give ’em all gold glover glorii!
Ten years it took Aaron Guiel
On buses for muiel after muiel
Of motels and diners
To work through the minors
And prove that it all was worthwuiel.
How quick we’ve forgotten Dale Sveum!
He had such a sveet-sounding neum.
At the old Coliseum
I once went to seum,
But he sviftly has lost all his feum.
Knowing exhaustively nature’s norms essentially dehumanizes you.
Destiny offers no natural explanations. Logic lobotimizes you.
A picture perfect image erases reason,
so complete happiness overtakes everything. Noteworthy endings woo each incoming season
Like a coveted kiss energizes you.
Giants lose. An unexpected sight
emerges rapturously. Suddenly, twentyfive Angels–despite
skeptics, having interpreted each little detailed statistic,
expressing concern, knowing such triumphant expectation is novelistic–
seize a lovely, magical October night;
move out lightly into nighttime air;
float upward; lifting like majestic eagles, rare,
wonderfully elegant birds, eschewing rest,
wings outspread over their escaped nest.
Gravity’s imposing lair,
succumbing passively, its evil zapped, its ordeal
overcome, remarkably terminates its zeal.
Whirling Angels swirl higher, buoyantly upwards, rising near
our celestial heaven. Observers appear
flabbergasted. Impossible, graceful gliding is nebulously surreal.
Reality or dream? Reality is grounded, unlike eagles. Zoom,
phantom eagles! Realists can’t imagine victorious Angels loom
above. No dreamers ever require substantiated observations. None.
Proof angels literally, materially exist? It requires one
miracle, one lilac in nature abloom.
Said Gillick, “I’ll upgrade my staff.
Benitez is better by half.
Nelson is full
Of nothing but bull,
And now I can have the last laugh!”
The Dodger offensive attack
Is lacking in men who can hack.
They way that they’ve played,
They are all overpaid;
They doubtlessly don’t deserve Jack.
The Reds situation is bleak.
Guillen’s trade was comic and weak.
Who gives a dang
About Aaron Harang?
And Valentine’s much less than Greek.
With Williamson (just call him Scott),
The Red Sox new bullpen is hot!
The whole Boston city
Is now feeling giddy.
The bullpen-by-what? I forgot.
The Giants held firm on the phone
When dealing for Sidney Ponson.
Damian Moss
Ain’t much of a loss,
While Ainsworth’s worth really ain’t known.
George in his role of tycoon
Decided to get Aaron Boone.
Is taking the loss in
Giving up Claussen
Worth it? I guess we’ll know soon.
The M’s are left sour and betrayed,
As Gillick could make no sweet trade.
Fans tartly condemn him:
He’s got so much lemon,
Why won’t he make lemonade?
