Here it is late August, and the Twins sit in first place
They've played so well, there may not even be a race.
By most standard metrics, they are on the right track
but one fan begs to differ, his name's Fanatic Jack
It's hard to understand why Jack's opinions have become
so negative that he calls each player a bum
To the frontier of pessimism, and never looking back
A maniac on a computer: that's Fanatic Jack.
He only tweets while the Twins are losing the game
come down with schadenfreude, and a need to assign blame.
but regardless of motivations, he just has a knack
to push peoples buttons; indeed he's Fanatic Jack.
Do you remember Randy Quaid in Major League Two?
He's just like that, with a more extreme point of view
As he sits on his computer writing another attack
He smiles to himself and says, "I'm Fanatic Jack."
If life is about happiness and spreading it around
Then Jack is what he calls Gardenhire: A clown
I'd hit unfollow, but I just can't do that,
Cuz it's too fascinating to read Fanatic Jack
Friday, August 27, 2010
An Ode @FanaticJack
Posted by
haasertime
at
9:38 PM
2
comments
Labels: poetry
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Short Joe Nathan Poem
There's something quite ominous
about his season ending threat
he's the one who ends games
but there hasn't been one yet
it was suggested that they trade him
after he pitched so poorly last fall
But those strib commenters look so smart now
they should be writing poems about baseball
The offseason was productive
they picked up Hudson and JJ
and with the new target field buzz
the stage is sure set for dismay
Posted by
haasertime
at
11:44 AM
4
comments
Labels: poetry
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Limericks - - 2009 MLB Awards
AL Cy Young Award
Zack Greinke always knew he could throw
a lot better than anyone else, although
he didn't give two licks
until he learned SABRmetrics
and decided to keep his FIP low
National League Most Valuable Player
For the true baseball fan Pujols is a treat
because he's pure awesome - not a steroid cheat
It's his third MVP
And he'll never be a Yankee
So I think that's pretty neat.
American League Most Valuable Player
Joe Mauer won the A.L. M.V.P
And the only one who did not agree
probably wears mascara
because he voted for Cabrera
In his stomach, he'll soon have Joe's knee
National League Cy Young Award
Lincecum is the pitching sensation
who is receiving his due compensation
he'll buy lots of weed
and jackets of tweed
with his record breaking arbitration
Posted by
haasertime
at
12:22 PM
0
comments
Labels: poetry
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Joe Crede Limericks
There once was a ballplayer named Joe
To everyone he wanted to show
That his back was not sore
and demanded once more
to play baseball with Justin Morneau
There one was was ballplayer named Joe
whose agent wanted lots of dough
He'd drive in runs
if we cough up the funds
kind of like quid-pro-quo
The former third baseman for Chicago
Could sign with the Twins tomorrow
If he stays healthy
he'll be very wealthy
but if not we'll probably blow
Joe Crede's back is all hurt
It happened when he played on the dirt
And the turf in the dome
on which Crede would roam
To the DL he will surely revert
There once was a man named Borus
He wants Joe Crede to play for us
But for too much money
in this economy
But no Joe, our D is porous
Posted by
haasertime
at
1:34 AM
4
comments
Labels: poetry
Monday, June 11, 2007
Ode to Chicken in a Biskit
Oh, how I love you, Chicken in a Biskit
I much prefer you to a Triscuit
I eat you for dinner, I eat you for lunch
And that meal mid-morning, I think it's called 'brunch'
I eat you at work, I eat you at home
I eat you so often, I wrote you a poem
The doc says I'll die at age Twenty-five
But when I'm not with you, I don't feel alive
So when the waiter asks "What'll it be?"
Just reply, "Chicken in a Biskit, that'll be all for me"
Posted by
haasertime
at
10:00 AM
12
comments
Thursday, May 10, 2007
write a poem...
What's written here does not have to be clear.
No one will tell you which way to steer.
Take a quick right, but hold on tight,
try to avoid all the fear and the fright.
No drugs, please no thugs,
this isnt a poem about all those slugs.
Posted by
Holmer
at
11:48 AM
6
comments