Archive for the ‘running away and hiding from a depressing news day’ Category

Baseball Is Poetry, Vol. I

May 8, 2009
Sigh. — a haiku
Hitting a baseball
Doesn’t make one a genius.
Manny is Manny.

Baseball’s Unpronounceable Lexicon
These are the most European of possible words:
Theriot to Fontenot to Hoffpauir.
Three Cubs trying to shake off the boo birds:
Theriot to Fontenot to Hoffpauir.
Their names are long, tho’ their talents aren’t great;
The Riot hits twenty home runs at this rate;
But come October, bear Cubs hibernate;
Theriot to Fontenot to Hoffpauir.

Found Poetry: Bert Blyleven Answers Your Questions

I.
Well Christopher,
you know they have that pitch count at a hundred and I’d like to see them take it
up to a hundred
And
twenty.
Because the average per inning
is usually between twelve and seventeen.
Well, you take that average and
That ball’s gonna stay fair — back
on the grass.

II.
Well, lot of times you’ll see this ball
as it HUGS the line
go toward the foul area but that ball just
HUGS
and then
watch it right here:
oh! It actually went on the grass. So
a nice bunt single there
By Tolbert,
and Christopher getting back to you.

III.
It’s, uh — I’d say fifteen.
If a pitcher can throw fifteen pitches,
and then eight innings, that’s —
that’s a hundred and twenty pitches.
That’s why I say.
They should up it up to a hundred and twenty.
Eight innings is good in today’s game — it’s
excellent
in Today’s Game.

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