Quoth The Shortstop
.
Once upon a diamond clearly, while I wondered, weak and bleary,
Over many a strange and curious number of injury lore,
While I nodded, nearly slogging, suddenly there came a blogging,
As of some one gently clogging, clogging the I T D core.
“‘Tis some odd Joey,” I mumbled, “blogging the I T D core-
Only him, and nothing more.”
.
No-mah, his instinct I remember was near a bleak September,
And each and ev’ry dying member pulled him to the disabled list.
Untimely I wished Cabrera;- vainly Ned had sought Berroa
From my notes I ceased my sorrow- sorrow for the lost Nomore-
For the rare and disjointed hitter whom the angels name Nomore-
No-mah here for evermore.
.
And the strained collateral of the ligament medial
Chilled me- filled me with horrific pains I never felt before;
So that now, to still the ranting of my brain, I stayed recanting,
“‘Tis some dumb Joey requesting hearing of I T D core-
Some damn dumb Joey requesting hearing of I T D core-
This is him, and nothing more.”
.
Very soon my chants grew stronger; slowing first but then no longer,
“Hey,” said I, “or worse, truly you’re bullshi**ing and you’re a bore;
But the fact is I was logging, and so roughly you came blogging,
And so meekly you came clogging, clogging the I T D core,
That I was not sure I read you”- here I opined with the core;-
Madness there, and nothing more.
.
Deep into that madness thinking, long I sat there wondering, blinking,
Doubting, writing chants no bloggers ever dared to chant before;
But the silent blog went on, and as the afternoon wore on,
Very few comments were entered about the whispers, “Nomore!”
Thus I whisper, and the internet confirms the name, “Nomore!”-
Clearly shortstop, and nothing more.
.
Back to the word processor, I typed words from my professor,
Soon again I saw an article more convincing than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely he has yet another oblique strain:
Or could it be, then another abdominal muscle tore-
Let me see then, some ribcage muscle gore or his wrist is sore;-
Could again his groin be sore?
.
Open I the Daily News, and the LA Times it renews
In them they spoke of a shortstop who hit well in days of yore;
No bit of whining made he; not a call to mama made he;
But, without a strained left calf or his fractured hand of half-
Perched upon the dugout steps and just for the I T D core-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
.
Then this ex Red Sox man came trippin’, my ‘magination’s rippin’
For another decent bat in the lineup we’d have in store
“Though your head’s not shorn and shaven, you,” I said, “art sure no Hu,
Oft injured Achilles tendon and how have you been mendin’
Tell me now whatever part of you could you have next be wore?”
Quoth the shortstop, “Nah – Nomore.”
.
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nah – Nomore.”
.
But the shortstop, sitting lonely on the maple bench, spoke only
That one word, as if his game in that one word he did adore.
Nothing further then that he knew- not his body then he renewed-
Till I once again him rebuked, “other fiends DL’d before-
Oh tomorrow he will leave me, as our hopes get blown before.”
Then the man said, “Nah – Nomore.”
.
Startled at deep potential the lineup eight dimensional,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what he says is what he’s always said before,
Signed by unhappy Colletti played by JoJo and Grady
Injured oft and oftener till his ligaments all are tore-
Till the wretches he called his fans they could no longer be bore
Of ‘Never – Nah – Nomore.”
.
But the shortstop he came trippin’, my ‘magination rippin’,
Straight I tossed a maple bat at the shortstop, I T D core;
Then while I’m bourbon drinking, I re-blogged myself to linking
Trippin’ into trippin’, thinking what this ominous Sox of yore-
What this thin, unseemly, ghostly, gaunt and ominous Sox of yore
Meant in moaning “Nah- Nomore.”
.
Here I sat once recanting, but no curse words could be chanting,
To the man whose idiosyncratic tics are like a *****;
Touch the helmet, touch the bat, give us a couple of toe taps,
All after you’ve pulled on and off those glove adjustments of yours,
After all the crazy game delaying tactics – what’s in store,
He shall press, ah, nah Nomore!
.
Then methinks Dodgers are closer, almost first without a true closer,
Brox helped by Kuo, Beimel, Park, Johnson, and thank God not Proctor.
“Bum,” I cried, “that Conte thinks you’re ready – by God you’d best be
Get a hit, get a hit, if you don’t, you will be shown the door!
Send that bum Druw to the DL and don’t go there anymore!
Quoth the Shortstop, “Nah – Nomore.”
.
“Neddie!” said I, “thing of evil!- Neddie still, if Gint or devil!-
Whether Conte sent, or whether Colletti bought you from the store,
Deranged yet all non-fatigued, in this desert land enchanted- (had to keep 2nd half of this line for enchanted)
On this team your terror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
Is there- is a division win in our future?- tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Shortstop, “Nah – Nomore.”
.
“JoJo!” said I, “thing of evil- Jojo still, if Yank or devil!
By Blue Heaven that bends above us- by Tommy we all adore-
Tell this blue soul with twenty years of drought and just one playoff win
We shall clap if the Dodgers win with a shortstop named Nomore
Clapped a rare and brittle shortstop whom the bloggers name Nomore.”
Quoth the Shortstop “Nah – Nomore.”
.
“Be that word our sign in Series, Sox or fiend,” I shrieked resurging-
“Get thee back into the lineup and into Joe’s resurgent core!
Leave no at bat without a struggle and gives us homers and doubles,
Don’t you come off the disabled list unless you can give us more
Put Berroa on the bench and send Fat Druw Jones out the door!
Quoth the Shortstop, “Nah – Nomore.”
.
And the Shortstop, never quitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On that freaking disabled list as we come into October;
And his obliques all are straining and the hamstring is retaining,
As we remember the five games he gave us in the August moor,
And my blue soul from within this, our Inside The Dodgers core
Shall be lifted- Nah – Nomore!
Superbas 