Denizens of Baseball Primer may recognize the Score Bard, a frequent poster who offers his commentary on baseball matters in verse form. The Bard garnered three separate nominations for a “Best Poetry” Primey this past year, but voters split their decision almost equally among the three, freezing him out of the award. My favorite was his commentary on the fishy Cliff Floyd trade between the Marlins, the Reds, and the Expos:

Who did the Marlins just obtain?

Carl Pavano? Justin Wayne?

Mordecai and Graeme Lloyd?

That’s all that they could get for Floyd???

If Karp’s a Fish, I won’t complain,

But snaring less is just insane!

No matter that this didn’t win. The Bard continues to delight, and now he’s got his own weblog, The Humbug Journal. His verse is now archived according to category (haikus, sonnets, limericks, music, and other poetry — this guy is versatile!), and his more recent topical musings are blogged, Clutch Hit-style. Regarding the Padre closer’s arm troubles:

On Trevor Hoffman having surgery

The Padres without injured Trevor

Have likely no chance whatsoever.

Without a clear heir,

They don’t have a prayer,

Though I guess you should never say never.

The Bard’s skill goes beyond pithy verse, however.

On Peter Gammons’ writing style

When Gammons hangs up from his phone

And writes all those notes we bemoan,

Try hard not to curse,

For it could be much worse:

Somebody could make a clone.

That last link generates a page of Gammons-esquse prose which changes every time its reloaded, and uncannily resembles the syntax-addled ESPN scribe. Among the best of the ones I generated in a few minutes of playing around:

The Yankees love Raul Mondesi’s sense of humor, like the time when he got up and danced with Yogi Bear to “Smooth Shark” by the The Studious Derek.

Ever since the Braves discovered Jason Marquis was flexing his small intestine every time he threw a slideball, he has been virtually unhittable.

Since who is on first, who pays any attention to the syntax of things, we will never wholly swing like Trot Nixon, wholly never be fooled like Theo Epstein while Spring Training is in the world that the Red Sox has a better fate than the wisdom that comes from failure, so do not cry–the gestures of Ramiro Mendoza, the laughter watching the struggles of Tim Wakefield: we write for each other, for baseball is not a paragraph, and losing, I think, is no parenthesis.

I think I’m going to get a tattoo of those last couple of lines (…we write for each other, for baseball is not a paragraph, and losing, I think, is no parenthesis), for they are Sheer Genius. Check out the Primer discussion thread for more reader favorites.