I am a designated hitter,
But I find my batting’s better
Than when I was avoiding butter
Trying to earn a varsity letter.
So perhaps this serves to show us
Maybe butter betters batting
And that chugging before slugging
Has effects besides the fatting,
But butter-bettered batting
Causes blatantly bungled bunting.
Perhaps my solution
Requires a bit of better hunting.
Filed under Poems
When my old buddy Steig
Joined the baseball league
I knew, although fatter,
I was the better batter.
So when he batted number one
And hit a home run
I didn’t give a damn,
And I hit a grand slam.
But Steig, I won’t lie,
He’s a competitive guy.
How can a guy like me save face
When Steig hit a grand slam with no runners on base?
You think of the pinstripes,
The mitts, cleats and bats.
You think of the jerseys
And the old baseball hats.
But did you ever think
About the life of the ball?
Smacked around all day long,
Built to fly, made to fall.
Schwunk! Went the bat
And up the ball flew,
Two hundred feet up
Into the beautiful blue.
But this time the ball
Had had enough of this life,
So he stayed up in the air
For the rest of his life.
He flew off to Cuba
And made it his home.
Now that, girls and boys,
Is why we play under a dome.
Filed under Poems
The Daily Travesty 