Madison Bumgarner II:

Dude,
You are 21,
Ronald Reagan as ancient as Thomas Jefferson or Plato,
To you.

If a nuclear bomb,
Took out Allameda,
Withn you on the mound,
Would that faze you?

What about Godzilla,
Rising out of McCovey Cove,
Breathing fire,
On the opponent's bullpen?

What about a lineup,
Of cloned and steroid-addled Babe Ruths,
Rickey Hendersons, Honus Wagners,
And Ty Cobbs?

You might be,
The most unflappable ballplayer,
I've ever seen.

Have your agent,
Look it up.

Jon Miller, Hall Of Famer:

Your humor dryer,
Than a summer Scottsdale parking lot;
Your timing equal,
To James Brown’s;
Your knowledge profound,
Wide and generous;
Your descriptions vivid;
Your mimicking of Vin—
Ah, perfect moment after perfect moment.

You’re the only announcer,
To whom I stay tuned,
In a rain delay.

With Stanford sidekick David B. Flemming:
Tonto/Sancho Panza/Chico Marx/Dr. Watson/
Mr. Spock/Chewbacca;
Aristotle,
Contemplating Plato’s freshest utterance.

Miller, you gotta quit ESPN,
Sending you hither and yon,
Every week,
Away from the story by the Bay.
Remain with the homies,
In your booth,
A lama on his hillside,
In reverent levitation,
Soaking in every nuance of the goings on,
Below on the greensward,
Disseminating ever-deeper observations;

And tossing off jokes,
The most popular guy at the party.

We deserve it, don’t we?