Another season, come and gone
And joyfully, we bring a song
Of feats unique in baseball times
Conveyed with just a touch of rhyme.
For now, we’ll start where we last left,
A man whose base reaching is deft
Hornsby, Williams, Boggs and Bonds
Each had a verse in this good song
But Votto now is added in
Four times the league he has led in
Avoidance of the tragic out
Let him have an on-base shout!
Let’s not forget his teammate Choo
Whose on-base skills, nearly as true,
Saw him reach three hundred times
A teammate pair of lovely lines
As only two since the war
Who brought what these men had in store.
Cabrera had himself a season
That was great for many reasons
But new ground he did not break
Though with each trip up to the plate
The nervous pitcher stared and shook
To think that now there is no book
For getting such a hitter out
Nothing much to do but pout.
Chris Davis this year found himself
An empty place upon the shelf
Fifty homers and three more
A number never seen before
And speaking of a man named Chris
Chris Carter liked to swing and miss
It seemed Davis might be his friend
Two hundred times left standing in.
But this time it was not to be
How many times did he swing free?
One hundred and a ninety-nine
If he’d but done it one more time.
Yu Darvish swirled into the show
Reaching back and letting go
A rate of strikeouts that was ninth-best
No sense in minding all the rest.
That’s all that we were waiting on
In this silly baseball song
But what about the players who
Earlier this season drew
A chair along those other greats
And gave us something worth the wait.
Juan Pierre is just a one
Do you know what he has done?
600 bases taken free
A joyous, years-long running spree
And, of course, we all know Mo
Who this year gave us quite a show.
The ball has hurled out from his hand
Fourth-most of any in the land.
Just as Mo climbed the hill,
Some starters made us stand most still
Admiring both the will and time
To answer the call when it chimed
Zito, Pettitte, old Colon
And Sabathia, give him a thrown
Three hundred and four hundred times
Has each man stepped up to the line.
And some wins there were, it is true
Pettitte and Sabathia shew
That two fifty and two hundred times
Could they the height of Mount Win climb.
As oft as those two made them miss
Something sweet is found with’n the kiss
As bat leaves often on the ball
A double, Todd Helton may call
And many of those that young man hit
So high on such a list he sits.
Not long behind is good Ortiz
Who five hundred he has hit to please.
Oh, and lest we should forget
Mark Buehrle was a new sight yet
Thirteen times that good man threw
Innings one hundred times two
And last of all, we’ll talk of teams
Who made all the season sing
The Astros gripped and took a cut
and ran into some awful luck.
The very most we’ve ever seen
Strikeouts of nightmarish dreams.
On the edge of our sweet land
A bird displayed such golden hands
In turning fielded balls to outs
The fewest errors! What a route!
The last we save for Buccaneers
Who gave us something all could cheer
Resurgent team, victorious cry
Ten thousand wins and not one shy.
And now we close, sad to say
And wait until an April day
When new season does take hold
And vanquishes the winter cold.
So for this foolish verse I beg
You think me not all the dregs.
I’ve done my best to make you smile,
I guess I’ll see you in a while.