Baseball Shorthand Poem by James P. Roberts

WASHing those gNATS away, well, MON, some days it's all EXPOSure
when the shot doesn't fall. A PHILA's gotta dress sharp to get the PHILLIES, but nowadays no one knows where the ANGELS are.You drive down the L.A. freeway until you hit SFog and a GIANT bird goes splATL over your car.A BRAVE thing to do: so many birds around here: ORIOLES, BLUE JAYS... you play the CARDS until you're coo-coo.
K.C. has a ROYAL flush, so go out under the OAK, looking at the A'S on your report.Ah, some days it's the PITTS, a jolly roger PIRATE on the plank.Today, a CHIll front has moved through.At the zoo you wear WHITE SOX as you watch the CUBS and TIGERS at play.DETour around the CINCema, popping REDS to get high.Back to LA-LA, DODGing fate like musical MINNstrel TWINS, only to get BOSTed around by a YANKEE.An INDIAN summer portends, soaking up RAYS by T. BAY before SEATing yourself on a MARINERS poop deck.I got A RIZ out of your D'BACKle; still, the BREW was pretty MILloW.I must adMET I never cared for NEW YAWK.The 'fros on the 'STROS were far-out; no problem in HOUSTON.Gotta say a prayer for those PADRES, baseball's version of ptSD.I'm a lone RANGER, lovin' that TEX-Mex music as I ride the ROCKIES. Ki-yi-yippie-hi-yo!