I've been hanging around Talking Chop a lot lately, and some sort of creative contribution seems like the only way to justify the amount of time I spend here a good way to give back to the community, even if cheesy limericks were the best I could do.
Catcher, Brian McCann
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All Star selections abound,
For McCann, 60 feet from the mound,
He had problems with vision,
But throws with precision,
And his hitting simply astounds.
First Base, Adam LaRoche
Is LaRoche our lineup’s cure?
Is his home run power pure?
Will chicks dig his long ball?
Is he here for the long haul?
Only Frank Wren knows for sure.
Second Base, Martin Prado
Martin plays second base,
Albeit without much grace,
Pine tar on his right shoulder,
A Freeman placeholder?
First seems to be a better place.
Shortstop, Yunel Escobar
Escobar plays shortstop with flair,
And though his miscues are far from rare,
He relishes the limelight,
Creating highlight after highlight,
In the field as well as his hair.
Third Base, Chipper Jones
The game ain’t over! hold the phones!
Up to bat comes Larry Wayne Jones,
Homers are quotidian,
For this native Floridian,
Whose stare turned Medusa to stone.
Left Field, Garret Anderson
Garret Anderson missed spring training,
But has taken to pitcher-maiming,
He’s old but not bitter (see above),
A professional hitter,
Who rakes like he’s video gaming.
Center Field, Nate McLouth
Pittsburgh’s epic firesale started,
When they sent us Nate the lion hearted,
He’s hit leadoff quite well,
Charlie Morton can go to hell,
And who cares that Gork and Locke have departed?
Right Field, Matt Diaz, Ryan Church, Jeff Francoeur
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The Frenchy trade had us all floored,
Across the fanbase, champagne was poured,
Diaz and Church,
Sure haven’t done worse,
And make us proud to put OBP on the ‘board.
Rotation: Javer Vazquez, Kenshin Kawakami, Derek Lowe, Tommy Hanson, Jair Jurrjens
Our rotation is better than fair,
With an ace like Javier,
Though his persona is meekish,
His K/9 is Lincecum freakish,
And he’d have owned the AL had he been there (STL).
A foray into the international market,
Landed us a top tier target,
Kenshin’s slow breaking ball,
Makes hitters feel small,
They return to the bench, and park it.
His fastball has natural sink,
And his face gets rather pink,
Though his contract’s an onus,
Lowe's stuff can be a bonus,
And perspiration, not performance, makes him stink.
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His Gwinnett days were sheer domination,
As the FO delayed his arbitration,
But his 12 to 6 curve,
Made hitters unnerved,
And advanced him to the heart of Braves Nation.
Haters doubted a repeat from Jair Jurrjens,
His response: some statistical surgin’
Another Curacao-er,
With Andrew’s star power,
Has the NL East funeral dirgin’
Closer, Rafael Soriano
Behold Rafael Soriano,
Who takes hitters on mano a mano,
Opponents’ fans dread high leverage,
And turn to alcoholic beverage,
To escape Raffy’s deadly bravado.