The meter isn’t quite right, I’m afraid, because I can’t get the hang of it. Anyway…

The Bravessaga
In Alliterative Verse
Prologue

Schuerholz came south      Wearing his suspenders.
A ring he owned      From running the Royals:
A savior he seemed.      But some were suspicious.
Kansas City had crafted      A contender before
Ever he arrived.      Atlanta was different
A team long in tatters      Trapped in last place.

Moves then he made.      Mindless they seemed
“Here we go again”      Was heard from the hapless.
Fans were they      Few and fainthearted
Sensing the signings      Were more of the same.
Pendleton the portly      Power he’d lacked
In Cardinal career.      Corner hitters cannot
Hit eight homers a year.      However he brought
A glorious glove      Twice had been golden.
Bream and Belliard      Both signed from the Bucs
Neither a knight      Known for knocking them in.
Doubtless their value      Would be in defense
Which long had been lacking      On Atlanta’s squad.
Bulky Juan Berenguer      Would bolster the bullpen
Twirler of note      Signed from the Twins.
Sanders the sideshow      Scorned by the Yankees
Brought his big mouth      And still tiny bat.
Willard would waddle      Once in a while
Perhaps to catch      Probably to pinch-hit.
Heath also signed      (Hey, they can’t all work out).

A core had the club      Confident players
Young were they yet      Their yesterdays few.
In right field ranged      The Rookie of the Year
David the doughty      Justice of deeds.
Gant the gallant      Great was his power
A comeback he’d had      Though he couldn’t play center.

Hurlers they had      Four pitchers whose deeds
Carried the club      Through many a clash.
Smoltz the stalwart      Sliders and splitters
And furious fastballs      Would force men to flee.
Great glory awaited      Glavine the grave
Yet few were his feats      From years agone.
Young and yet able      Avery the youth
Thrust into the light      Of three and eleven.
Liebrandt the lanky      Of lefties most crafty
Tragedy would taunt      But now he held true.

The middle was made      Of many a pair
To try for a run      Two Jeffs they could team
Blauser and Treadway      Beaters of pitchers
Including their own      Offense their all.
For defense a duo      Of doubtful bats
Little Mark Lemke      Light-hitting he was
But he was the Babe      Beside teammate Belliard.

Lonnie in left      Legend of lost days
Hit could he still      But his legs were gone.
And silently came      Swift Otis Nixon
Late in leaving      The last player added.

Managing these men      A task for a master
Cox had come down      From crafting the team.
Coaches he had:      Corrales his comrade
Williams the wary      And Jones watched the hitters.
Mastermind Mazzone      Legend in making
Practiced his pitchers      In program most pure.

On eve of season      Everyone knew
Braves would be beaten      But maybe they’d bring
Hope for awhile.      This humble team
Knew not what awaited      (Needless to say).