Popular acclamation for the basketball and football versions of Ogden Nash’s poem “Line-up for Yesterday” has been enormous. OK, my parole officer liked it; and I shoot pool with a guy named Vinny who found my rhymes mildly amusing. But I take encouragement wherever it may be found. This being the case, I have decided to conclude the trilogy with the third of America’s major sports and the one of which Nash wrote—baseball.
The deceased and retired baseball men below differ from those in his poem. They are more contemporary, with one exception which may be traced to my search for somebody to whom the letter X would apply. National Leaguers, American Leaguers, home run hitters, base stealers, knuckleball artists, genuine heroes and those with “issues” are referenced herein. Batter up!
A is for Aaron,
Multi-talented player from Alabama,
Went yard 755 times,
No wonder they called him the Hammer.
B is for Berra,
Talented backstop to the max,
Always came up big in the World Series,
Sure could mangle his syntax.
C is for Clemens,
Broad-shouldered alum of Texas University,
His pitching career got a second wind,
Through the wonders of modern chemistry.
D is for the graceful DiMaggio,
He of the 56-game hitting streak,
Hooked up with a blonde hottie named Marilyn,
Lasted slightly more than a week.
E is for Eckersley,
Side-armed closer for the A's,
Dominant for almost a decade,
World Series walk-off homer by Kirk Gibson not among his better plays.
F is for Fisk,
Also known as "Pudge,"
Was he a great catcher in Boston and Chicago?
You be the judge.
G is for Gibson,
Omaha native threw a wicked fastball,
Scared the living daylights out of batters,
The cognoscenti say he had it all.
H is for Henderson, the stolen base king,
Swiped more than Cobb or Brock or anyone,
The bane of opposing pitchers,
Tended to speak of himself in the third person.
I is for Incaviglia,
Bruiser from Oklahoma State,
Famed for prodigious strikeouts,
But his bombs paid the freight.
J is for Jackson,
Self-styled straw that stirred the drink,
Made the Dodgers cry in the ’77 Series,
NYC sportswriters gave him plenty of ink.
K is for Kaline,
Patrolled the outfield at Tiger Stadium for 22 years,
Could hit, run and throw,
Engendering copious and lusty cheers.
L is for Lasorda,
Not the most skilled guy on the mound,
As a manager, that’s another story,
His stomach was big, rotund, round.
M is for Marichal,
High-kicking hurler saw red,
One day in San Fran in '65,
Took a bat to John Roseboro’s head.
N is for the Niekro brothers, Joe and Phil,
From a small town in Ohio,
Won 539 games for 12 different teams,
A highly successful pitching duo.
O is for the cigar-chomping O’Malley,
Brought the Dodgers to the coast,
Things have never been the same since,
Had many reasons to boast.
P is for Paige,
Long-armed Negro Leagues legend,
Pitched as a pro for 40 years,
His strikeout victims were humbled and saddened.
Q is for Quisenberry,
The Royals’ representative in these verses,
Threw submarine style and did it well,
Caused more laughter than curses.
R is for Robinson,
Four-sport star at UCLA,
Integrated the majors back in ’47,
On the base paths he had his way.
S is for Spahn,
A marvelous old southpaw,
Set the standard for the Braves,
When it came to pitching he was the law.
T is for Thompson,
That fateful day in the Polo Grounds, fans’ hearts were beating,
Hit the homer heard ’round the world,
Later we learned the Giants had been cheating.
U is for Uecker,
A .200 batter for three NL clubs,
Parlayed that into a long career behind the mike,
Not bad for a self-deprecating scrub.
V is for Veeck,
Peg-legged and none too handsome,
Owned the Indians, Browns and White Sox,
Critics said he was a loose cannon.
W is for the BoSox’ Williams,
Greatest hitter of all time—so he said,
Fought in WW2 and Korea,
Gruesome things happened when he was dead.
X is for the eight X men,
Jackson, Risberg, Gandil, Felsch, Cicotte, McMullin, Williams and Weaver,
The notorious Black Sox of 1919,
Removed from the game as though by a cleaver.
Y is for Yount,
Twenty seasons he spent in Milwaukee,
Excelled at shortstop and center field,
Two-time American League MVP.
Z is for Zimmer, a baseball lifer,
Player, coach, manager and exec,
Bill Lee called him “the Gerbil,”
Considered him a pain in the neck.
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